Allegedly British SAS troops are performing HALO–which stands for High Altitude Low Opening–training jumps with dogs. So careful with that pooch, Eugene.

The Sun includes a PhotoShopped picture in the article. Poor doggie doesn’t even have goggles. Yeah, right.

Michael Fournier has tried harder than anyone in history to fall. So far he has spent nearly twenty-million dollars and years of his life in an attempt to best Joe Kittinger’s leap from an altitude of 102,800 feet.

Technically Kittinger was the first astronaut, as he pierced the stratosphere at speeds exceeding 614 miles per hour when he leaped from the Excelsior III in 1960.

What Fournier wants to do defies convention and most would say common sense. The cost and toll seems insurmountable. And in the end, the journey and preparations will probably only seem worthwhile to him. But really, his is the only opinion that matters. I would not do this–nor can I imagine the amount of physical and mental duress he might experience–yet I respect his courage and persistence. He is doing something that only one has dared to before, and besting it.

Unfortunately a malfunction on the ground resulted in the loss of the balloon a few days ago, and thwarted Michael Fournier’s most recent attempt at the goal. He has vowed to try again.

I believe he will.

For now, Kittinger’s breathtaking record of human flight stands.

Still waiting on my new spectacles; it looks like another thirty-six hours of staring through lenses covered in splotches. Had I opted for just a new set of prescription glasses and frames as per my habit every four years, relief would be mine already. I broke with routine, though and bought two pairs–daily wear and sports.

Gone are the Harry Potter round rims. Seventeen years was enough. With a few differences, the new daily wear glasses resemble these:

Made by Nike, the bendable ear pieces attach to the glass, and the lenses are rimless. I opted for a single piece nosepad, which are typically more comfortable than two floating attachments. Also, instead of the oval shaped lenses above, I selected the mezzi cut, which are rectangular. The whole package is very European.

Anyway, the daily wear glasses are ready. It’s my sports glasses that are taking more time. But it’s worth it. These babies are air tight, with molded leather interior padding and rated for skydiving and motorcycle riding.

Here’s a model in the same vein, though mine have gray frames with 25 percent rose tint.

Da, Detka!

By the way, if you ever wondered what the ground below looks like when sky diving, the Google Earth interface does it justice.
Here’s my drop zone at 3,800 feet. The red marker indicates the center of landing area. To the right, five buildings with dark red roofs confirm the location. Running diagonally from center top to center right is the runway. Last, the white building at the upper left side of the drop zone is the hangar.

There are thousands of altimeters in use by skydivers world wide, but this minty new one is mine:

Ah, my very own circle of awareness. Though it looks cool at first glance, in air it’s even better, because a light absorbent material on the face provides enough illumination for night jumps.

For those playing at home, students must pull by 5500 feet. Jumping from 10,000 feet, that’s about 25 seconds of freefall.

I’m falling towards the Jersey shore at 120 mph. Wind thrashes at my body, like some possessed invisible force.

At 9,000 feet the jump master gives the thumbs up and I do the first parachute check test. Anything that changes the angle of deflection of air over my body will affect the stability and direction of the freefall. So to complete a practice reach for the ripcord without causing a wild turn, I pivot my left hand towards my temple at the same time I reach down and to the right. My left wrist locks 2 inches above my head, while my right hand touches the orange plastic knob.

All clear. Returning to a full arch, my arms assume the Jesus Christ pose again.

“Altimeter - 8,000!” I yell, loud enough that it pierces the din.

“Heading!” The second PCT check passes without a hitch. “7,500!”

Locking on a heading in the distance, I turn right, and then back to center.

“Arch - Heading - 7,000!”I start the left turn, locking on another object. This maneuver is bit choppier, but under control and soon enough I’m back at center.

Textbook so far, but I’m about to make a mistake that could have been fatal.

The jumpmaster unlatches the lock and opens the bay door of the Cessna 182. Wind roars through the cabin like a hurricane. Outside, the prop hums like a low pitched buzzer, relentless. There’s two inches of air between us and 10,500 foot descent. It’s the sort of day jumpers dream of: an unlimited ceiling, moderate to light winds, and a crystal clear view spanning more than thirty miles in every direction. The only speck of white below are breakers gnashing into the Jersey shore.

I pull my goggles over my helmet, covering my glasses securely.

It’s time.

“Are you ready to sky dive?” That’s the question the jump master bellows.

“Yes, sir!” I boom back. With twenty-two years teaching Army Rangers, Spec Ops and other airborne units how to jump, firing back with anything less than an equal intensity will mean push ups after the debriefing. I hate push-ups.

“Then let’s sky dive!”

The railing over the wheel of a 182 is wide, yet stout, and maintaining balance is easier than I expect, even into 120 mph winds. I point my toe towards the wing tip. Over my left shoulder comes the all clear from the jump master.

We break away from the plane and barrel heads down through nothingness.

“Arch, arch, arch, breathe!” I yell. Instinctively following the vocal prompts, my body thrusts out at the hips, resembling a banana from the side.

Three seconds later, I’m stable and dropping 1000 feet every 5.5 seconds.

I have thirty seconds to live the rest of my life.