Sunday, May 17, 2009

When you've done everything else in Los Angeles...

The video is up! Watch it on youtube.

Or, even if you haven't seen everything there is to see in Los Angeles, but like me, you're craving some adventurous outdoors-time and lack the time and money to go on a roadtrip, then Angeles National Forest is the place for you.

Not only is the park, which lies just north of Los Angeles, a welcome respite from the asphalt and high-rises of the city, but it is also the only place in California you can do a state-licensed bungee jump off a bridge.

Of course, I wasn't planning on bungee-ing when I went. Oh, sure - I thought about it when my roommate, Sarah, told me she had researched some bungee company and made a reservation to jump. But I quickly came to the conclusion that bridges were made for walking and driving on, not jumping off. So, when Thea (another one of our friends) and I went with Sarah to Angeles National Forest on Saturday, it was purely for moral support and to enjoy the beautiful hike on the way to the jump site.

When we met the Bungee America group in Azusa before caravaning up to the trailhead, they weighed all of us to ascertain which weight category we fell into for the bungee cords, even those of us who protested that we were only going along to watch our friends jump. But,
even though the logical (though perhaps naive) part of me was asking, "Why do you need to remember that? You're not jumping, silly!" I found myself memorizing which jump group I would be in.

The trail to the jump site is beautiful, meandering along the edge of a river that cuts through the mountains. It feels worlds away from the city, with no trace of humanity save the subtle delineation of the path in front of you. And it's much more challenging than I expected: we waded through the river at least six times, crossing back and forth to pick up the trail on the opposite bank. The sun was already beating down on us at 10am, and I was not a little worried about a few guys in the group who seemed to have brought something in their water bottles that was intended to help them make the leap off the bridge, but might not have been as effective at helping them navigate the narrow, rocky ledges or deal with the heat.

Sarah took advantage of the two hour hike as an opportunity to try to talk Thea and me into making the jump with her. And actually, by the end of the hike, I could almost picture myself doing it - making the jump and having wonderful, heroic stories to tell afterward; knowing that I can, in fact, be a thrill-seeker when I so choose. Then, we arrived at the bridge.

"The Bridge to Nowhere," as it is named, spans the rocky, boulder-filled gorge that the river runs through 150 feet below. I leaned slightly over the concrete railing of the bridge to see just what the jumpers were facing, and the first thought that popped into my head was a vehement, "Hell, no!"


Don't get me wrong - it's a beautiful site. The river rushing over the giant, smooth boulders. The rocks all worn smooth by the force of the water. But, the thought of freefalling towards it made it appear less beautiful and more... well... fatal.

We were all tired from our trek, and we sat on the bridge to eat our lunch and, for some, to ponder their fate. Soon, "jump school" began, and Michael, a "jump master" from Bungee America began explaining how this whole plummeting off bridges thing works (though I don't think he phrased it that way).

That logical, and slightly naive, side of my brain was still asking, "Why do you need to know this? Did you see that view over the railing? We are not going down there." But, I listened anyway, and heard all about how they're certified by the same people who license theme park attractions; and how, even if all the bungee cords break except for one (people typically have at least three, if not more, bungee cords on a jump) you'll still be just fine and won't hit the rocks below; and how, in over 13 years, they've never had an injury. Well, all those things sounded pretty reasonable to me. It began to seem like a fairly safe thing to do, actually, jumping off this bridge. In fact, it was probably safer than the hike we just went on, where we were crossing rocky ledges with no safety ropes. And heck, it had to be way safer than driving on the freeways everyday in Los Angeles. But, the thought of actually committing to this jump still did not seem appealing to me.

Then people started making their jumps. One after another, people were flinging themselves off the bridge. And you know the strangest thing? After awhile, it began to seem normal to be doing this. Just like when people watch hundreds of slasher movies and become numb to the violence, so I was becoming numb to the insanity of plunging off the side of a bridge. I again began to toy with the idea of doing it myself, but through the "numbness," I could still feel the fear battling with my determination to be adventurous and take this opportunity while I had it. Who knew when I would have the time to do another two hour hike out to this bridge just to jump off of it? Now I was torn and unable to commit to a decision one way or the other.

In the end, what "pushed me over the edge," so to speak, was something Thea said. As we stood on the bridge, watching person after person hurl themselves off and proceed to bounce like human yo-yos over the rocks below, she looked up and said, "There is just nothing in me that wants to do that." I stopped, as the logical side of my brain finally acknowledged the apparent facts of the situation: there was a part of me that wanted to do that. Every person I watched I was trying to imagine myself in his or her place, trying to imagine what it would feel like to soar off the side of a bridge and fly over the river below, floating in midair, then freefalling towards the earth until being snapped back up by a giant rubber band. Something about it sounded so... free. I mean, there aren't many chances in life to see what something like that feels like.

The next thing I knew I was asking Ron, the owner of the company, if I could still decide to make a jump that day. And of course, they're no dummies: they always let people decide last-minute to jump, even if they don't sign up ahead of time. So then I was stepping into the harness, having someone check and double check all the straps and buckles. And then, the scariest part of the whole experience: they latched the bungee cord onto me.
There was no turning back now. I could feel its weight pulling me towards the edge of the bridge. Only one possibility lay ahead of me, and that was to jump.

Michael, one of the "jump masters," explained to everyone earlier that there is an invisible wall of fear that exists running along the railing of the bridge. Once you cross it, all the thoughts you had of looking cool, of impressing your friends, of showing off, all disappear and are replaced by one thought: get me back on the other side of that railing! But, as I stepped over the railing onto the tiny red metal jump platform, what I felt most was an overwhelming sense of determination. I may have decided to do this at the last minute, but once I made up my mind, there was no possibility of turning back. So, I jumped.

I never really got that soaring sensation, though. You see, what they tell you is to dive out and then somewhere along the way reach for your toes and you'll naturally turn upward so the bungee (that's attached to your stomach) will snap you back up. What they didn't know was that I did gymnastics for 10 years. And what I didn't know was they were right on about one thing: after crossing that invisible wall at the top of the bridge, all your thoughts and plans do vanish, and pure instinct takes over. So, when I jumped, rather than freefalling and doing a half turn at the last minute onto my back, I immediately reached for my toes and did a forward double-pike off the dive platform.


Afterward, everyone would tell me it was really impressive, and I'd love to be able to say it was intentional, but it was purely instinct. They had been talking before about the confusion your brain feels when there's no ground beneath your feet and your body is falling in a way it never has before. The trouble, though, is my brain knows what to do when my feet aren't on the ground and I'm flying through the air: flip. I remember thinking, "This isn't what I expected to do." But it was too late, and before I knew it, I had done two forward flips off the bridge, was at the bottom of my cord, and I was being snapped back up towards the bridge with 3Gs of force. It was awesome!

I honestly don't remember much about the next part, either. I continued to bounce up and down, back and forth under the bridge, stretching my arms and legs out as if I was a flying squirrel soaring between treetops, partly because I didn't know what else to do with my limbs as I bounced around on this giant bungee, and partly because I felt like, if I could extend myself as far as possible in every direction, I could somehow experience everything more fully.

I came to a rest all too quickly, and they lowered down the retrieval cord and hauled me back up. It all happened so fast: I was up and over the railing of the bridge before I even had a chance to fully absorb what I had just experienced. I guess that's why people do more than one jump.

Anyway, to end the long saga of our adventure-filled day, I will simply say that I'm glad I did it. The Angeles National Forest and the hike are amazing, and I will certainly be back to enjoy them. But there is something about jumping off of a bridge and experiencing that total freedom of falling that is invigorating, inspiring and hopeful. I hope you have the chance to experience that as well.