I scanned my e-mail list and remembered that a couple of months earlier, at a high school reunion, two former classmates, Alex and Eugene, had mentioned that if I ever decided to jump, they'd come along. I e-mailed them and, conveniently, they were both working that Monday (okay, they are stockbrokers, so maybe they really were but still, they could have called in sick; after all, some people think it's sick to jump out of a perfectly good plane. I guess I'll have to ask them on a weekend and see if the results differ.

I tried a few more friends, but they all said they needed their feet to be solidly on the ground at all times.

Once again I went back to Heidi, since I felt she was the one who'd started this in the first place by asking me. Heidi thought about it and said she "might" give it a try.

At the time, we thought we might want to make my adventures into a television show (and now we have), so we enlisted the services of her friend Evan, a very laid back guy and fellow producer who thought I was totally nuts but wanted to come and watch.

With no takers, but at least spectators, I phoned a place I had heard about called The Ranch in Gardiner, New York. The Ranch is about a two-hour drive north from Manhattan and very close to my favorite rock climbing place, Mohonk Mountain, which is in the neighboring town of New Paltz (and where I went recently on my birthday.) I figured if I jumped out of the plane near The Ranch, I'd be able to get a bird's eye view of Mohonk. Of course I could stay inside the plane and do that too, but then it would be more like a bird's eye view inside a cage, and I don't do well in captivity.

I called and spoke to Joseph Richards, the owner of The Ranch. He was very upbeat and enthusiastic. He gave me the rundown. "We've been in business for over twenty years and have never had a fatality, but before you do a tandem jump, we'd like you to go to our Web site, www.skydivetheranch.com, and review the information. Go to the release forms page, read them, print them out, and then sign them. Then if you could watch the instructional video, you'll know what to expect before you come up here. It's that simple."

He sounded very confident. I thanked him, picked a tentative date two Mondays from then to avoid the weekend rush, and said I'd get back to him to confirm. Immediately, I went to the site.

I clicked on "Your First Tandem Skydive – Tandem 1" and read the following: "With this introductory jump, you will skydive from our usual altitude of 13,500 feet with a free fall of approximately 60 seconds." (That could seem like a lifetime!) "You will then enjoy a five to seven minute canopy flight with a spectacular view of beautiful upstate New York … During the tandem jump, you are physically attached to one of our highly skilled USPA certified tandem instructors for the entire skydive. Your tandem training will take about fifteen minutes and you will jump from one of our Dehaviland Twin Otters or Pilatus Porters. (That's a plane for us laymen.) We can easily accommodate any number of friends you may want to bring." (Mmm. Any number of friends? I was having trouble getting one!)

It ended with, "You must be 18 years of age and weigh 225 pounds or less."

Not a time you want to lie about your weight … next thing you know you and the instructor will be one big police chalk mark on the ground. Then again, you can use the weight issue as an out by going to your local Dunkin Donuts and consuming everything in sight. "Oops, I weigh 226! My, my. Oh well, can't jump!"

With that said, and my devotion to dieting increased. I downloaded the release forms. They were the standard type of adrenaline sports release form, warning you that you can get killed, you are fully aware of it, you want to do it anyway and p.s. you can't sue.

With the legalese out of the way, I clicked on the video. For some reason my finicky Mac didn't want to witness the rush of freefall, even though I downloaded the files. So I had to move to plan B: anxiously wait until I got to my boyfriend Steve's house to view it on his PC.

In the meantime, I continued to try to recruit fellow jumpers. Again, there were no takers, just a lot of well wishers.

A week before the jump I had a chance to finally see the instructional video. Steve and I watched it on his computer. It was the owner, Joseph, playing the part of the newbie jumper, with one of his instructors, Carol Sternberg, as the tandem instructor.

Joseph explained, "Your instructor will have on both a reserve and main chute. The ripcord handle will be by the instructor's right leg. The harness will connect you and the instructor at four places; two snaps at the shoulders and two snaps by the thighs. You will have an altimeter on that will be set to zero while you are on the ground. Each number on the altimeter represents a thousand feet. You will wear a helmet and goggles."

I decided to start writing all this down, since I wouldn't be able to view the video again later at home. I felt like I was studying for a final exam, and in reality, if something went wrong, it would be a FINAL exam.

The video went on to show how to get ready once you are in the plane. Each of the jumpers sits in between the legs of the person behind them. You are handed a helmet to wear. When it's time to get ready, you are asked to get on your knees (and no its not to pray) so you can get hooked up to the instructor.

Then you put on your goggles, tighten them, stand up one leg at a time (which is quite a feat since you are now attached to another person), head to the door, do the countdown, and jump."

The video explained in detail how to stand at a forty-five-degree angle in the door and to look at the propeller while getting ready to jump. Then, once you heard, "Ready, set, arch," you were supposed to jump out the door. The video stressed that at six thousand feet YOU (not the instructor) pull the ripcord and then happily flare. Then all you have to do is land is land softly on the ground and hopefully on your target.

Honestly, I was okay watching the video until I heard the part about me reaching back and pulling my own ripcord. I started having visions that I'd be reaching back there and grabbing for the wrong thing as I went spiraling down to earth. Why can't the instructor just pull the ripcord? Must I be responsible for our lives on my first jump out?

Steve saw my panic and said, "I'm sure the guy will pull it if he sees you don't."

Even still, I decided I needed to watch the video several times and memorize the information. Steve rolled his eyes and went downstairs to watch TV. Sure, he could stay calm, he wasn't the one jumping! But I did notice he was eating a big box of Dunkin Donuts just in case I asked him.

As "Jump Day" got closer, I started to think about my mortality. I'd never thought about it before with my other adventures, I kind of just did them. I guess I never looked at the risk or danger, just the thrill of overcoming a challenge. But, for some reason, 13,500 feet was sticking in my mind. Strange, I didn't worry when I jumped from 2,500 feet. I guess it was the splat factor that was bothering me. I thought maybe I should prepare just in case; after all, I did have a lot of projects in the works.

With that thought in mind, I sent letters to my editors telling them to publish my books anyway and to give the money to my son, Spencer. Then I wrote "just in case" letters to my son, my mom, my sister, and my boyfriend telling them how much I loved them, where the cash was stashed, about my will, and that I'd haunt them if they didn't behave.

Finally, I sent out a mass e-mail to my friends telling them I was jumping, I kidded, "So if you don't hear from me on Tuesday, you know what happened."

The responses ran the gambit of emotions; "Good God girl, you are amazing!"; to the spiritual, "While you're up there maybe you can pray for those people who never get their prayers even close to heaven"; to sheer honesty, "No way, Jose, I'm a total sissy ... a ground lover—but enjoy if you must"; to the cautiously funny, "BE CAREFUL FRAN ... WE HAVE TO STILL HAVE LUNCH. DAMMIT! IF YOU DIDN'T WANT TO MEET – JUST SAY SO ... DON'T GO JUMPING OUT OF A PLANE!; To the encouraging, "Good luck! I have jumped from a perfectly good airplane over eighty times, and have comeback fine each time! You will have a blast!"; and finally to some facts I really didn't need to hear, "The human body bounces ten feet when dropped from thirteen thousand feet on a good day." Good day? Seems like anyone who is bouncing out of a plane when dropped is having a bad day.

The amazing thing was no one was shocked I was jumping. I guess I've been doing adventures for so long, it's like Betty Crocker announcing she's going to bake a cake. In this instance it could be an upside down layer cake.

Anyway, I felt better knowing my business was all tied up and my friends and family knew what was going on. I also wanted to make sure that I didn't fight with anyone the night before. The last thing I wanted was bad karma on the jump.

The night before the jump, I lifted weights just to be ready in case the ripcord was hard to pull or something. I didn't want to be messing with that thing in the air. Nope, I didn't want to leave any stone unturned, or any cord unpulled.
After my workout, Heidi called. "Fran, they say it might rain tomorrow afternoon and it's supposed to be cloudy. I know your jump is at eleven so I think we will have to play it by ear."

I was already a bit nervous, and the thought of jumping without being able to see the ground wasn't one I was fond of. I didn't want the ground sneaking up on me, and my last words being, "Oh there you are … damn … splat."

Luckily, the weatherman was wrong. This was one time I was really happy that weather is not an exact science. Jump Day was gorgeous and clear.

Now all I had to think about was the list of people that had made me promise to call them upon landing—safely, that is.

My son, of course, wanted to know if he was still going to have a mother by the end of the day. I told him, "Think of it this way if I don't make it back, you won't have to clean your room." That's how we respond to fear in our family, with jokes. But to make him feel better, I gave him a cell phone to take to school (even though it has to be turned off by school law), so at least I could leave a message to let him know I was all right.

My mom, who had been saying novenas since I told her I was going to jump, made me promise to call her at work as soon as I had two feet on the ground as well as the rest of me in one piece. And finally, my boyfriend and two close friends, Anna and Janette, wanted me to call just for peace of mind.

That morning, I dropped Spencer at school at eight. I reassured him that everything was going to be fine. I also told him that in life you have to practice what you preach, and if I'm telling him to go out and tell him and the rest of the world to live their dreams, then as a mom and a motivational speaker, I have to lead by example and not just give it lip service. I kissed him goodbye and then drove upstate by myself. My friends Heidi and Evan were driving up together from Jersey to watch me jump and also to act as photographers to capture this moment for eternity.

On the ride up, to pass the time, I called Anna, who, like a true friend, said, "Don't worry, Frannie. Everything is going to be fine. This is just another crazy Capo adventure designed to give you a few minutes of peace and quiet where no one can reach you. But I gotta tell you, there isn't enough money in the world to make me jump. Unless the plane is on fire, is spiraling down, and the captain is dead, I'm not leaving the plane."

I arrived at The Ranch before the other jumpers, which was surprising because somehow I had missed the road to the place a couple of times and had to loop back. Maybe it was my subconscious mind saying, "Why not just go to Mohonk and rock climb?"

I sat in the parking lot for a few minutes and said a quick prayer. Then I decided to get out and check out the place. There were a couple of people underneath this huge canvas. Some were just hanging out, some were preparing chutes, and some (gorgeous half-naked men) were planning their skydiving aerobic dance number.

Everyone was upbeat, happy, and calm. I went into the trailer, which doubled as an office, and handed in my release forms. The office girl told me she had jumped a few times and loved it. She said, "The oldest guy that jumped was ninety-six and the oldest woman was eighty."

My competitive nature kicked in. "Well, if they could do it, so can I. They did live right?"
She just laughed.

I looked at all the pictures and cartoons on the wall. I had a flashback to something I'd seen on one of the videos on their Web site. I just had to ask the question.

"Hey, by the way, who was the guy on the video with the long, gray beard, the Amish-looking guy with the Grim Reaper personality of death? He scared me."

"Oh, that guy is Bill Boots. He's known as the father of the three-ring release system that allows you to safely cut away from the parachute if necessary. He was also one of the first guys to do a tandem jump."
"In the video he mentioned tandem jumping was still experimental, is that true?"
"Well, it was experimental from around 1983 to 2001. Just last year it was changed from that status."
"Maybe they should update that video." I felt a little better knowing I was no longer a guinea pig.

Shortly after, Heidi and Evan arrived. They had brought a friend, Cassidy, who was thinking of jumping too. I asked them if they had changed their minds about jumping, and Evan shook his head. "I still think you're nuts."

Heidi said she'd watch and then maybe do it another time.
Cassidy said, "She was game, but her attentions seemed distracted by the half-naked men running around."

Another nice office girl, Bernadette, gave us an overview of what was going to happen; it sounded pretty similar to what I'd heard on the tape I'd watched ad infinitum.

I was introduced to Carol Sternberg, a gold medallist in skydiving who was going to act as my cameraperson. She would be jumping out of the plane with us, wearing a helmet equipped to take both stills and video. She started rolling tape right away. "So Fran, why are you jumping out of a plane today. Are you nuts?"

I played to the camera. "Nuts? No, my son said, ‘Ma, you've been bugging me about the homework lately, you sure you don't want to jump out of a plane?' So I took him up on it."

She taped as I took the instruction lessons. My instructor for the day was James Leonard. James had jumped 3,500 times before and had been skydiving since 1992. He said sometimes, depending on how many students there are, he jumps as many as twelve times a day! And here I was worried about just one jump! But still, in my defense, the first time is special and particularly scary. You only need one mistake.

I casually asked James if he was happily married. I just wanted to make sure that he didn't pick today to get out of his marriage without the hassle of a divorce. With a twinkle in his eye he said, "Well, my wife left me, the kids won't talk to me, my house burned down, and my dog ran away with the neighbor's cat."
I felt like I was listening to the lyrics of a bad country and western song.
Then he laughed. "Just kidding. I'm single and my girlfriend and I are very happy."

With his sanity and sense of humor checked, I suited up in a blue jumpsuit and had an altimeter—a device that measures altitude—strapped to my left wrist.

We went around the back of the office/trailer to a training area. There was a platform to simulate the door of the plane where you could practice your stance and jump.

James began, "Remember to stand with your feet at a forty-five-degree angle to the propeller. Hold onto your harness in the door. You will hear a count of ‘ready, set, arch.' Then we will jump. The arch is important because it helps the center of gravity to be in your stomach and helps control the free fall. A few seconds after, I'll pull the drone chute, which will stabilize us. I'll tap you on the shoulders to let you know that the drone is out. Then you put your arms in a W position. Give a quick check to your altimeter, and reach your left arm over your head and your right arm back for a practice grab of the ripcord. Then relax and enjoy the ride. Remember, the two most important things are to have a good time and smile for the camera."

Easy for him to say. I would be his cushion if we landed without a chute.

The final things we practiced were flaring and the steering of the parachute. Steering was pretty simple. To turn right, turn your head right and pull down on the right toggle. The farther down you pull, the faster you turn. The same thing applies on the left. The only difference from the static line jump (besides the fact that I would have a guy constantly on my back) was in the landing. In a static line, you look at the horizon, and as soon as you feel your feet touch the ground, you drop and roll. In a tandem jump, you land on your butt. Since that area of my body has more padding, I was okay with this.

To land on your butt you do this thing call flaring where you pull both toggles of the parachute down at the same time. As you pull the toggles down, you raise your feet straight in front of you so you can glide into the grass. Hopefully you do it right and don't get any butt burn.
James asked, "Any more questions?"
"Yeah, I know what happens if you pull the chute too late. What happens if you pull too soon?"
"Nothing. You just float longer."
"Oh, okay."
"Anything else?"
"What if I pull the rip cord at five thousand feet instead of six thousand?"
"We have beginners pull at six thousand because we figure by the time they remember what to do it is five thousand. A professional can pull as low as 3,500."
"Good, I like a little leeway."
"You'll be fine, Fran. "
"Just one more question. If for some reason when I'm putting my right hand back looking for the rip cord, I happen to grab for the wrong thing, like a body part, you are going to pull the cord, aren't you?"
James just nodded and laughed. I laughed too, but I checked the location once again.
It was time to don the parachute and harness. We walked under the tent where all the equipment was laid out. Carol was taping James, who was getting ready, and asked, "Isn't that the chute that doesn't work?"
James gave a coy smile to the camera. "I'm sure it's good for one or two more jumps."
James put on the backpack that contained the drone, the main chute, which is checked every day, and the reserve chute, which is checked on cycles of 120 days even though it is rarely used. I checked again to see where the ripcord was. It was kind of hard to miss since it had an orange golf ball attached to the end of it. But still, when I was jumping, I wouldn't be able to turn my head back like Linda Blair and look for it.

I put on my harness, which had the hooks to attach to James in the four places. James made sure it was tight. I felt more secure that way anyway.

We headed over to the plane. Only one other guy and I were doing a tandem jump. The other twenty people on the plane were professionals. We tandem jumpers were to be the last to jump and, therefore, needed to be the first on the plane.

Carol took pictures of my walk to the plane. I did a little dance number to show I wasn't nervous. Yeah, right!

I sat in between James' legs, and Carol sat in between mine. Everyone was laughing and joking. I was joking, too, but inside I was nervous. After we took off, James gave me my helmet to wear. It was a leather helmet, nothing that could prevent brain injury. I kept checking my altimeter as the plane was climbing … 8,000 … 9,000 … 10,000. I was handed my goggles and asked to put them on.

James, sensing my nervous energy, said, "Don't worry, you'll love it. It will seem surreal."

I couldn't imagine how falling 120 miles per hours could seem surreal, since my cheeks would be pressed against my face and the earth getting closer by the second.
I was too short to see out the window, so I really couldn't get a sense of how high I was. I started wondering how all of us were going to jump out at the same spot. I mean, it's not like the plane could stand still over the target.

James said, "We all try to jump as quickly as possible when the pilot feels we are over the target. If he has to, he will circle around and then the next batch will jump."

I saw the door roll open and the first group of guys leap out of the plane. Just like that. No thought … nothing. Some of them jumped backward; some did somersaults. They made it look so easy.

My heart pounded. The plane was more than half cleared of divers. But we had to circle around again. The waiting was killing me and giving me reprieve at the same time.

Within minutes, we were ready for the next batch to be regurgitated out of the plane. Then I heard Carol say, "Fran, any last words?"

As she pointed the camera at me, I choose to joke. "Ma, I never told you about the time I … oh well." I figured if I was going to have last words on camera, might as well make em funny.

At this point, I knew I wouldn't turn back. I heard James say, "On your knees." It was the only time in my life I would obey that command. He hooked me to himself in the four spots, two on the shoulders and two on the hips. Then he said, "Ready, let's stand." We both put our right foot first, then the left. We made it up without tumbling over. We headed toward the door of the plane.
I watched the tandem guys go before me. For the first time, I saw how high up thirteen thousand feet was. I couldn't believe I was about to jump. My adrenaline was working overtime.

Carol went outside and hung onto the side of the plane so she could capture our jump. The moment of truth. I stood in the door of the plane, holding onto my harness. The wind was blowing in my face. I put my feet at a forty-five-degree angle and looked at the propeller.

James said, "Don't forget to smile." I nodded. Then I heard the command, "Ready, set, arch … JUMP!"

In one giant step, with no turning back, we were out of the plane, spiraling toward the earth at a dizzying rate of 120 miles per hour.

The next few seconds were a blur. I know my eyes were open, and I must have seen the plane, but I can't even recall the sensation of falling hundreds of feet. It's like I saw everything and nothing at the same time.

Then I felt the tap twice on my shoulders that signaled the drone chute was open. I put my hands in the W position. Then James pointed to Carol, who was a few feet away from me, waving and smiling and recording my every move. It was then that I looked down for the first time and realized I was above the clouds. I checked my altimeter; it showed eleven thousand feet. I did my practice reach for the ripcord and then, for some reason, a peace came over me.

I started to laugh. I loved the feeling. I was floating in the air, or at least it felt that way. There was no sensation of falling. It felt like two giant invisible hands were bouncing me up and down slightly and holding me suspended in the air.

The closest sensation I've ever had to this was when I would put my hand out the car window as I was driving down the highway and the wind would push it backward as I tried to push it forward. The play of forces was amazing.

I looked all around and saw the gorgeous Mohonk Mountains in the distance. The ground was still so far away, and I could see for miles. I waved and smiled at the camera. I had every faith that the chute would open. The first step, as they say, is always the scariest.
Since James saw I wasn't scared, he pushed down on my right hand while we were free falling which spun us around quickly to the right. Then he pushed with the left hand and we spun the other way. I was having the greatest time. I felt totally free.

Click To Play

Then I remembered. Ah, I better check my altimeter. I looked and saw it was showing six thousand feet. I reached back for the ripcord. I found it immediately and pulled. It was so much easier to pull than I'd imagined it would be. When the chute opened, we were pulled slightly upward. I looked down and saw Carol rapidly drop out of sight. That is when I realized how fast we were going. A few seconds, and several hundred feet later, I saw her pull her chute.

We floated down. At this point, we were going only fifteen miles per hour and could talk. James unhitched our two bottom hooks so we could land easier. We made right and left turns, practiced a few flares, and then spotted our target, a big sandy circle. When we were ready, James said, "Flare." We did and landed ever so smoothly on our butts.

Carol was waiting with the camera. "Hey, you did it! How was it? Would you do it again?"
"Absolutely. That was a true adrenaline adventure. I loved it. It was the greatest feeling just floating for thousands of feet and seeing the world from a whole different perspective."

Heidi, Evan, and Cassidy came running up. "It looked awesome," Heidi said. "I wish I did it."

Cassidy chimed in, "Girl, I wish I did it too. But for now, I'm gonna see if I can jump on one of those half-naked hunks and see what we can arrange for the near future."

Evan just shook his head. "You're all nuts. All I know is I kept looking for the plane up there and the next thing I know a bunch of people were just plopping out of the plane like ants."
We all laughed.

I felt fantastic. It was the scariest and most rewarding adventure I'd ever done to that point. I wanted to go again. Carol came over and congratulated me and handed me the video and a roll of still pictures. That was quick. We watched the video on their VCR.

Then James handed me a certificate, "My First Parachute Jump."
He also handed me a logbook and wrote, "Nice exit, had fun, pulled and Yahoo!"

I hugged James, which was my way of saying "thanks for getting me on the ground in one piece". I walked away feeling I had conquered another fear, and this time I could literally say I had stayed on cloud nine for a long time—well, at least a few minutes.

I called everyone as promised. Spencer was relieved and couldn't wait to see the video. He said, "Everyone at school thinks I have the coolest and craziest mom."
"And what about you? What do you think?" I asked.
"I think it's great, because life is always exciting. Scary sometimes, but exciting. It also teaches me not to take things for granted. I love you, Mom."
"I love you too." I smiled and drove home thinking about my adventure.
At home, I saw my "just in case" letters sitting on my desk. I was going to rip them up, but then I thought twice and decided to keep them, because as I always say, "Live everyday as if it's your last, and one day you'll be right."

But until then, I'll have great adventures, enjoy life to the fullest…and at very least I no longer have to write out my will.

Carpe Diem.

Note: This is an exerpt (Chapter 42) of my book, Adrenaline Adventures…to learn about other adventures you can buy an autographed copy of book at www.francapo.com (Bookstore).

Adventure at a Glance - Dare to Do it Mild to Wild Scale: 5
Title: Tandem Skydiving
Children allowed: No
Age requirement: Eighteen and up
Length of trip: Half day
Where to try this adventure: The Ranch

Best time of year: Summer, spring, fall
Approximate cost: $185 for first jump
Reservations necessary: Yes
Fitness requirements: Must weigh under 225 pounds
Personal gear required: None, besides courage
What NOT to bring: Tight clothes
Photo opportunities: Yes

Notes: Of all my adrenaline adventures, I found this one to be the scariest. There are skydiving places around the country. Thoroughly check out the outfit first before agreeing to jump. Find out their safety record.

Cool trivia: The "sport" of skydiving began shortly after World War II when returning Airborne GIs found civilian life a bit tedious. While they weren't fond of getting shot at while they jumped, they did think the jumping part was fun. So when the United States government started dumping surplus parachute equipment into the civilian market in the 1950s, the paratroopers took up parachuting as a sport.
After a while of just tumbling any old way down, a Frenchman by the name of Jacque Istel brought the concept of a controlled freefall to the United States. The "box man" fall that skydivers do today was originally called the "French Frog" position. Istel introduced the first skydiving course for civilians around 1957.