I'm free, free-fallin' ... at five feet

I've never been one to think it would be fun to parachute out of a plane. I'll confront my fears right here on the ground, thank you very much. But the chance to experience a free fall without the falling part? Sign me up.

One week after SkyVenture New Hampshire opened up in Nashua, near the Massachusetts border, my fiancé, Zia, pulled the car into the parking lot with that look of little-boy excitement on his face. He'd seen a vertical wind tunnel in Orlando, Fla., a few years back, but this was the first one in New England – and the first time I'd heard of such a thing.

We spent a few minutes watching experienced flyers strike poses in midair in the glassed-in flight chamber. Two weeks later, on a rainy Thursday evening, we were back, ready to fly.

Actually, there's nothing you can do to get ready – that's the beauty of it. They suit you up and teach you what to do. Beginners as young as age 3 can try it. There's no "Fear Factor" vibe in this simple, clean space, painted in shades of calming blue.

The calm is balanced by the exciting sound of air rumbling up from the force of four propellers above the flight chamber – 1,200 horsepower total.

Confronted with all that wind – close to 100 m.p.h. for beginners my size – I wondered if I would have some semblance of poise. Or would I tumble into walls, making use of my mandatory helmet?

Our affable, tie-dye clad instructor, Selwyn Facey, made it easy to relax. One of eight instructors there, he hails from the Isle of Man in the Irish Sea. His joy lit up the room as he talked about why he prefers flying in the tunnel to skydiving out of a plane: There's no need to worry about the weather, and it's a "never- ending free fall!"

In the small classroom, Selwyn flipped onto his stomach on a carpeted stand to demonstrate the "neutral position" we'd be striving for: head up, arms lifted slightly above shoulder level, a gentle arch in the back, and legs straight back and just slightly bent at the knees.

After class, we emptied our pockets and put on jumpsuits, helmets, earplugs, and tight-fitting goggles. Then it was my turn to fly.

Standing in the open doorway of the 12-foot-wide chamber with a wire-mesh floor between me and the air stream, I took a deep breath and tipped myself in as I'd been taught.

Selwyn guided my lower half into the room as I concentrated on making my body obey. I got the "chin up" signal a few times, and when I couldn't see him he was probably adjusting my legs – "body awareness" isn't easy in all that wind.

He soon let go and gave me a big grin and a thumbs up. I couldn't believe it – I was already in the neutral position, the air pushing up on my arms as if I were coasting on steady wings.

It was nothing like my fantasy of flight. No bird's-eye view of scenery far below. No clouds. And I wasn't going anywhere – just hovering. But it was a different kind of thrill.

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