Liz and I jumped last weekend from an airplane at 18,000 feet. Part of her scary birthday effort. The memory of falling out of that airplane is going to put a smile on my face for a long time to come. Flying an airplane and peeking out the window will perhaps feel a little more cramped sadly.
It wasn't without its price. Not only was it expensive, but we had to wait 4 hours. We even got put on a plane once, then bumped off. It's hard waiting to do something the idea of which scares the beejeezus out of one self. The parachute ride down, after an initial pleasant glide, turned into a brutal turn and drop that left me naseous for an hour. My instructor was worried about seeing his landing spot -- so I suppose I can't complain too much. Better than landing in the middle of a street or something!