Fun at 14,000 Feet

Matt wasn't lying my beloved blogheads, this was one of those weekends that the Boys of 501 won't soon forget. The weekend got off to a flying start as the New Ro Nut Heads headed north for a date with the blue, grey skies of Gardiner, New York. The objective was to prove the theory of gravity...friends, old Isaac Newton wasn't lying!

Following a brief and downright disturbing instructional video narrated by Harry, the hasidic jew with the world's longest beard, two things were ingrained in our heads....there is no such thing as a perfect skydive and should the worst occur, well...Skydive the Ranch doesn't give two shits because you just signed your life away!

After helping The Ranch crew out with some high-rise paint detail, The Ghostbusters and The Other Three met their instructors and photographers...Rico, Chico, Marco and Igor x 2...quiet debate quickly ensued amongst the six skydivers about whether or not terrorists were in our midst. Final instruction was then given.....head back, legs to the instructor's ass, make sure you can feel the golf ball and flare, flare, flare!!!! Oh, and be prepared for a slight drop when the top clips release around 6500 feet!!!! Release!!! The only thing I'm going to release right now is a fart!

Minutes later we were eggs in a carton ascending to a meager 9000 feet, cloudy skies prevented us from going the usual 13,500. "F that!!" said Captain Dan (donned in awesome Aviators I might add!) in disgust, now I'm taking you an extra 500! That's when it happened, the fart to trump all farts! We will debate for years about who's ass it derived from, but there was no doubt in Igor's mind what it signaled..."that's the scent of fear!" said the gangly Russian immigrant.

At nearly three miles in the sky, the door of the plane finally slide open...the last of the fart evaporated and with it, each of the six sky surfers caught the wave...each felt the incredible rush of the air ripping you out of the plane into oblivion, each felt the moisture in their mouth as they passed through the clouds, each gave a thumbs up to their respective videographer and each felt the tug of the parachute destroy any chance of reproduction.

One by one, we slowly drifted down from the sky, steering ourselves to a final stop on the grassy Earth below. When at last we all had arrived, Igor, with a snap of the camera and the smile only a terrorist's motha can love, proclaimed all that was needed..."Exxxxxxxcellent!

Later in the Day
From land to sea we went, as we raced out to Captree State Park for a date with the Atlantic Ocean. After picking up a member of 501 from a brushy Citibank bush, we boarded the JIB VI, bum ankles and all!!!

In typical 501 fashion, "Beer On!" was sounded far more often than "Fish On!"

Three bluefish were brought safely onto the boat until one member of the 501 Crew put BL in their tank! Some say a fourth fish belonged in said tank, but we all knew he just caught the boat!

The night ended with three rain soaked members of 501 throwing "healthy casts" while the fourth was just praying for a "healthy hand!"

Cheers to a TREMENDOUS weekend gentlemen...the summer has only just begun!!!