My honest reaction to skydiving was, well, kind of a letdown. For me, the best part wasn't the 140 or so mph we went during that 30-40 second freefall from 10,500 feet, nor the hard spinning we did during the canopy ride nor that swooping, faster-than-I-thought-it'd-be landing. No, for me, the best part was the experience of making the conscious choice to step out onto the wing, then choosing to just ... let go. Oh yeah, baby, that part was sweet. Except it was over pretty quickly.
So, the reason why I'm posting this thought here: you know what I really, honestly felt was a more terrifying, thrilling, lusty experience? That one time I took my Bianchi Axis down a deserted highway's hill to somewhere between 55 and 60 miles per hour. I'm not kidding! For me, that joyous terror I felt while tearing down that hill -- for me, that white-knuckle rush was ten times scarier and more exultant than jumping out of a plane.
I just wanted to say that ...
p.s. I remember, there was this poster in the hangar that said, "Our sport can eat yours for breakfast." You know what? Heh. I don't think so.