Betty Blogger

My Bungy Jumping Experience

Is getting there half the fun?

-Megan Mulcahy

I knew my trip to New Zealand was going to be a fast-paced adrenaline rush. After all, the trip would be less than 72 hours and the sole purpose was the plunge off the highest bungy jump in Australia. Who knew the adventures - or perhaps more aptly, misadventures - would begin before I even left the ground.

I have to take responsibility for the first mistake. I somehow got it in my head that my flight was at 9:30 a.m. rather than the actual 8:50 a.m. departure time. It was probably wishful thinking, because those 40 minutes made possible a much easier commute to the airport. So I was surprised when, as soon as I walked up to the Jet Star check-in, they called for anyone flying to Christchurch to step up as check-in was about to close.

I walk up and swiftly hand over my passport.

"And the copy of your itinerary?"

"Excuse me?" Now, here is where I believe I can begin to share some of the blame with this budget airline. When was the last time I had to bring a physical piece of paper with me to the airport?

She tells me that I was supposed to bring proof of my departure from New Zealand, and since I failed to do so I must go downstairs to get a print-out of my itinerary. And that I better hurry, because check-in is closing imminently. I locate the nearest escalator, run down, and find myself in baggage claim. Huh.

I run back up. I stop a Jet Star guy coming around the desk. I ask if he can give me better directions to where I can find the magic computer with my itinerary. After explaining a distance that sounds like it's about four football fields away and filled with blockers, he give me a look that I narrate aloud: "I'm not going to make it, am I?"

As he shakes his head in agreement, I begin to lose patience. "I don't understand this ... " He interjects, explaining again that I need to have proof of my flight out of New Zealand. "But I booked a round-trip ticket with you! Shouldn't you have my flight details available in your computers as I bought them FROM YOU?!"

With that, the proverbial lightbulb switching on, he spins around to an empty desk, takes my passport, punches a few keys, and voila! He prints out my flight details. He then completes my check-in. Though in quiet disbelief over the previous seven minutes, I apologized profusely. Although I didn't feel too guilty as I was only carrying on, so I wouldn't cause any baggage hold-ups.

Not that my help was needed in that department. After my race to get through check-in, the flight was delayed over an hour. Naturally.

This, coupled with long customs lines, put me behind the wheel of my ridiculous rental car about two hours behind schedule. And by ridiculous I mean my first thought when I saw it was that I should call Nickelodeon to let them know their Slime Mobile has somehow ended up in New Zealand. Seriously, it was a green bubble just screaming "Tourist!"

After filling out the necessary paperwork for the car, the friendly agent advised that I needed to also rent snow chains for the tires, as part of the road to Queenstown, my destination, had been closed earlier in the day due to a storm. Fine, safety first. She gave me a quick demo on a dummy tire on how to put them on, and I was off.

Though it was already getting dark, I was determined to get to Queenstown. After all, I already had a hotel room booked and my bungy jump was set for 9 a.m. the next morning. The fog was doing some creepy things with the trees and mountains, but the roads were fine. They were still fine when I got the beginning of the stretch that was in the warning zone. Finally some snow did start to show up, but I could still see plenty of black on the road. The rental agent had said other people would be stopped to put chains on if they were needed. Well, there was no one else on the road, save the car that had been in front of me but sped off down the road. He was moving pretty swiftly, so the roads must be OK, right?

Wrong. Despite my conservative pace, all of a sudden the green bubble was spinning out of control. It felt slow-mo as we made wide circles and zig-zags across the road. All I could see were the trees on the far banks of the deep ditches on both shoulders.

Finally, the car came to a stop. Amazingly, it looked like I could have just pulled over to check a map; I was facing the right direction, straight, with my outside wheels just inside the edge of the ditch. Whew! Safe, yes. But, alas, I was stuck.

I threw my flashers on and grabbed one of the chains to attempt to armor my tires. Two things immediately became clear: I would have been better off in ice skates on that road; and I was going to need help with the chains.

Lucky for me, New Zealand proved to be like a freezing cold Hawaii: full of aloha spirit. Everyone stopped to make sure I was OK, and the first few guys tried to help push my car out and put the chains on. When it became obvious we couldn't do it alone, I called the AAA number that came with the rental info.

Being just five kilometers shy of Lake Tekapo, a small town almost exactly halfway through my journey, help came quickly in the form of another very nice Kiwi with a big truck and a tow rope. He hauled the car out of the snow bank, put the chains on, and made me promise to spend the night in Lake Tekapo.

Though I wasn't psyched to be getting one hotel room for the price of two for the night, and I worried that my jump reservation might not be as flexible as the bungy cord I'd be bouncing from, I had to agree. I crept into town, found a room, took a hot shower, and tried to relax.

Would I ever make it Queenstown in one piece to complete my four-year quest to conquer bungy jumping?

Read Megan's last blog: Bored?

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