Spring Break '10, part II - part I

I guess it’s about time that I tell you all about my Spring Break now. Or at least the first part, because let’s face it, Spring Break 2010 part II was jam freakin’ packed full of activities. So here goes part one…

Thursday the 23^rd we left Pretoria at about 7AM with every intent on getting to Port Elizabeth, on the Southern Coast, before dark. But this is Africa. It doesn’t have time for your plans. In fact, it has so little (care for) time, that it has all the time in the world. The drive was easy. Jamie and I sat back and relaxed while Madison did all the driving (she’s the only one who knows how to drive a manual car – I hope to fix this before Turkey next semester) and Brooke navigated (and planned every stop and activity). The African countryside in this central region reminded me of West Texas meets Monument Valley Utah meets the Australian Outback if the outback had shrubbery. In other words, dry yet bushy, hilly yet flat, and plateau-y. I hope that was confusing enough for you. Anyway, the terrain was beautiful and unique, but all the towns we drove through had one thing in common: they all had a township. I couldn’t help but think as we drove passed each one that here I am, this rich white kid from America, seeing the world, about to do all the things on this trip that I am about to do, while most of these people will probably never get out of these situations, out of South Africa, or possibly even their hometowns. On one hand it was a little depressing, and on the other it made me really think about how privileged I am to be born when, how, and where I was and appreciate what life has given me. The day ended beautifully. As we continued our drive southward, the sun was setting in the west behind the mountains with a beautiful transition from yellow to red, purple, blue, and black along with Venus and Mars while a full yellow Moon began to peek over the mountains to the east with some thin clouds and a bright Jupiter. We could see each set and rise simultaneously. Absolutely beautiful.

Friday the 24^th we had planned on going to Addo Elephant National Park, a park with, allegedly, the highest concentration of elephants in the world. We got there with four reservations to ride horses through the park for three hours, but when we got to the front desk, Jamie wasn’t wearing the proper attire nor did she have much experience. Madison also felt like sitting out, so soon it was just Brooke and me left to go. We headed out for the stables with the oh-so-loving, stern, and overly dramatic warning of “Be safe. You could die,” from the ranger in the office. Nice. Thanks, bud. Will do. After we were given our horses, we just kinda sat on them nervously in a fenced area next to the stables. Then came our two other riding mates. Two large middle-aged German men with think German accents who claimed to own ranches in the south of Germany. Sweet. So these noobs were going to be riding with ranchers. “Let’s just act like we know what we’re doing,” Brooke said. “Um, duh,” I replied.

As we rode through the “wilderness” of that nature reserve… Well, honestly, nothing happened. There were power lines crossing the plains and the only fauna we saw were springbok, a rather large tortoise, zebra, and some ostriches doing what animals do in the springtime. With the exception of the ostrich coupling, we had seen all of this before. No elephants. Only their leavings. Old, dry leavings. Oh, and a fenced off monument of elephant bones. “If you see an elephant in this section of the park, you should go to the casino. Because you are very lucky,” said our ranger at the beginning of the ride. Brooke and I gave each other this look like “What? Are you serious? That’s what we came for.” So, on went our eventless ride. And came back. And that was the end of that adventure. Back in town, we treated ourselves to a nice dinner, walked the Port Elizabeth Boardwalk, and went back to the hostel early to rest up for what had the potential to be the last day of our lives.

Today was the day. We were going to drive from Port Elizabeth to just east of Plettenberg Bay, South Africa, where the ride/fall/jump of a lifetime awaited us. On the way, the first high bridge over a gorge we drove over, we all freaked out a little bit. “Holy shit! Holy shit!” We had no idea. These were babies compared to the Bloukrans Bridge that awaited us. Upon pulling up the side of the gorge with the business that ran the bungee jumping, Face Adrenalin, we saw people getting their harnesses on, and checked out the bridge from what could be called a viewing ledge. Immediately upon seeing the bridge, Madison had decided she was out, but she had been scared about it since this activity was first proposed over a month ago. There were about fifteen or so other spectators watching people jump from a distance. A body fell from the bridge. At least, that’s all we could tell from the distance we were watching. Brooke, Jamie, and I took a collective gasp, and began to scream and freak out on each other. “Do we really want to do this?” “Of course we do! We’re gonna jump off a freakin’ bridge!” “Oh my goooooosh!”

Bloukrans Bridge - 216 m

We went to pay. “Has anyone ever died doing this,” Brooke asked. After a quick reply and assurance that no, nobody had ever died and it was totally safe, her next question was “What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?” (A quick note: before we even left Pretoria, Brooke had researched every risk involved and had seen that some people go blind from increased blood pressure in their brain.) With a smirk that suggested “You don’t want to know,” the lady at the check out chuckled under her breath and handed us our indemnity forms to sign. Brooke, Jamie, and I filled out our emergency contact info, weight, signed, paid our 600 Rand, and were weighed. We were assigned what we called our Death Numbers, and they along with our weights in kilograms were written on our right hands. “In case they need to identify the body,” I said.

Hysteria

We headed over to the harness station and got all harnessed up. Here’s where it starts getting good. I wish I could tell you all about this in person, because even as I think about the rest of this venture, a huge smile comes to my face and I want to laugh with you and tell the story. Anyway, with harnesses on, we began to laugh. Hysterically. Maniacally. According to Brooke, harder than she had ever laughed before in her life. “WE JUST PAID! WE HAVE TO DO IT! WE HAVE TO DO IT!” At this point, Brooke was weeping from laughter. Our faces hurt. Our stomachs hurt. Laughter consumed every fiber of our beings. And it was wonderful. But terrifying. We were about to jump off of a 708 foot bridge (higher than the Seattle Space Needle) with nothing to save us from certain death but a giant rubber band rope, after all.

After twenty minutes of letting us calm down (Or freak out more. Or change our minds [nah]. Or hype ourselves up.), it was our groups turn. After a briefing and instructions on how to jump (Arms out like a ‘T,’ knees bent, jump forward, as onto your bed. DO NOT go feet first. The rebounce won’t be fun.), details on how big the bridge is and how high the jump is and what to expect, we headed down the path to the side of the bridge where a catwalk awaited us.

Beneath us, the Earth became farther and farther down as the bridge went farther and farther out over the gorge. For the first time in my life, I experienced vertigo, as I looked through the holes of the catwalk down to the craggy rocks and gnarly trees below. I focused on the beautiful ocean through the hillsides and to my left instead. Once on/under the bridge (see pictures), we were again told how to jump. A rather bored and boring looking man and his weight, 92 kilos, were called. He would be one of the first. Brooke’s name and weight, 57 kilos, are called. She would also be one of the first. After the shock had subsided, she began to freak. Again. “WHAT?! FIRST?! NO! I’LL EAT A HOTDOG! ANYTHING BUT FIRST!” She did not want to go first. In fact, I had actually volunteered to go first, but weight was considered before wants. There were different bungees for different weights, after all. Whatever.

We got to the main part of the bridge. “Jamie! You’ll go first!” we hear. Jamie looks at Brooke and me. Terrified. Timidly, she takes off her jacket, gets the ankle pads on, and they tie the cord around the pads. By now my poor friend is crying through her laughter. “Tell my mom I love her!” she says. It’s hard to tell which is emotion is stronger, fear or excitement, but they help her to the ledge anyway. Toes over the side and music blaring we hear from the crew “5! 4! 3! 2! 1! BUNGEE!!!!!” Over she goes. Not gracefully, stricken with emotion. But she goes nonetheless. Next, the bored and boring man does his boring jump and then it’s Brooke’s turn. She is freakin’ pumped, man. She pulls a Rocky by jumping around to the music, gets ‘ankled’ up, as I have named it, and goes. A perfect swan dive. As if into a pool. Only over the side of a 708 foot bridge and into the seemingly unending air.

After she and Jamie are up, we talk about what they felt, what I should expect, and the wait begins. Only it seems to never end. A fair amount of our group goes during my wait. Over half. After about a half hour (or so it seemed), the first group of jumpers was asked to leave the bridge. What? But my friends are included in that group. “Do we have to?” asks Brooke. They had to. Damnit. Now I’m alone up here with nobody I know. But soon it didn’t matter. It was my turn (finally).

They put the pads around my ankles, and a rope that’s connected to the bungee cord around the pads. “This knot and rope I’m tying around and through your legs can hold up to three tons.” “Well that’s good,” I think, “because I’d prefer not to die today.” The bridge guys help me up, feet tied together, and perch me feet over the side of the bridge. I look down. I look down a long ways. Finally my heart starts racing and I’m second-guessing what I’ve signed up for. Seriously. That’s a long. freakin’. way. down. But before I know it, “FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! BUNGEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!” Over I go. I am falling. I am falling. And falling. All I hear is the wind going passed my ears as if I have just stuck my head out of the window of a speeding car. (We were told that, in fact, we would reach a falling velocity of the equivalent of 75 MPH) “How am I still falling?” I like to think my subconscious was thinking. At the bottom,  I can feel all the blood rushing to my head, as my eyes water and vision blurs. “I AM GOING TO GO BLIND!” I think, remembering Brooke’s research. But I didn’t. I bounce. And go what seems like a long ways up. I fall again. Again a delayed reaction from me as I finally scream at the end of this second descent. “HOLY SHIIIIIT!!!! OH MY GOOOOOD! WOOOOOOOHHHH” I say over and over (or something like that), as it finally hits me as to what I’ve just done. I’m laughing, alternating reaching for the bottom and holding onto myself and screaming more expletives as I continue to bounce several times.

After the last bounce, as I dangle there on a rope like a whole chicken on a Chinese street market, all I can focus on is the tree directly beneath me. “This is the last thing I am going to see before I die. I am going to land in that yellowish-green tree when my feet slip out of this thing,” I think. It should be mentioned here that Brooke, Jamie, and I each recall this feeling at the bottom, like our feet were going to slip out. I was flexing those suckers like they had never been flexed before. Not even my years in band and lifting my toes could top this. Thank you, adrenaline, for allowing me to sustain for as long as I did. It should also be mentioned that I (and every other jumper) had a backup connection that my conscious mind completely neglected to remember as I dangled there like a fool, flexing my feet for all they were worth. As I continued to flex, I started talking to myself aloud, wondering when the guy was going to get there. “Where’s the guy? I wonder where the guy is. I’m going to slip out and die if he doesn’t get here soon. I wish the guy would get here.” It went on like this, me talking to myself dangling from a bridge, with some variance, for what seemed like forever. But soon he came. I heard a voice. “There you are!” I said. He began pulling me up and I remember thinking You are my favorite person in the history of all time.

After I was up and reunited with my friends on land again, we watched our replay videos (I jumped feet first in my excitement – oops), were handed our badass certificates, bought our souvenirs, and went to lunch. We were famished, after all, from jumping off a bridge.

That night, as we each sat journaling in our room, Brooke and I rekindled the laughter that consumed us at the harnessing station. It was relentless, loud, and full of joyful tears. Laughter was our narcotic. Completely addictive and carefree. “What did we do today?!” “WE JUMPED OFF A BRIDGE!!!” we manage to say through our laughter.

We jumped off a bridge.