TWO DAYS BEFORE THE START of the attempt, Miles was standing on his front lawn, bent over an ailing mower that, like every other mechanically driven item associated with him—cars, boats, power tools—seemed to have had its last legs amputated years ago. The Daisher homestead suggests suburban domesticity slightly tweaked, the white vinyl siding concealing a garage full of parachutes, kayaks, and bowling balls.
"Can't have the lawn half mowed when everyone starts showing up for this thing," Miles said. "Plus mowing the lawn's kind of a Zen thing for me. It's like therapy, makes you forget about all the other stuff."
The pre-event frenzy was a constant reminder that, though adventurous lives like Miles's are easy to romanticize, prosaic details are not easily escaped. There were diapers to be changed, bills to be paid, and dogs to be fed. The house phone and two cell phones rang constantly. Nikki handled most of the calls.
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| "It's not going to be butterflies in your stomach when you step over that rail for the first time, dude," Miles tells me, describing what my first jump might feel like. "Those'll be bats." And then it's happening. |
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She's quieter and more pragmatic than her husband and has learned to take the danger element of what he does in stride. He is a safety fanatic, she pointed out, "and he's good about keeping his head about him. I trust him to make the right decisions."
But Miles was clearly feeling the weight of the upcoming record bid. "I'm almost starting to get nervous," he told me as we cruised to Costco in Blue Thunder, his 1990 Subaru wagon with 300,000-plus miles on it. "Not about the jumping but all the logistics of this record-attempt thing." His publicity efforts, at least, were starting to pay dividends. Regular plugs on local radio ("This Friday, for one day only . . .") and extensive coverage in the Twin Falls Times-News meant that he'd arrived as a local celebrity.
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Jack toughens up and prepares to climb Mt. El Capitan by taking on the dangerous sport of mountaineering. Click here for video
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"I saw your face in the paper," said the old woman in the optical department at Costco when we dropped by to pick up a new pair of glasses Miles had ordered. "You jump off bridges."
"Yeah, that's me," he responded, laughing shyly. The glasses, it turned out, were not ready yet, which was a problem, because without them he would have a hard time seeing well enough to land safely at night.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "I'll call and tell them you need them as soon as possible, and that you jump off bridges. They won't believe me, but I'll tell them."
At our next stop, the guys at the tool-rental shop called Miles crazy, then asked him to autograph their newspaper, gave him half off on the generator price, and threw in all the halogen lights he needed at no charge. At Quiznos, the teenage boys making our sandwiches asked some excited questions about jumping and gave us a 75 percent discount, most of which Miles then stuffed into their tip jar. Miles never did get the lawn mower working that day, but things were looking up. ESPN2 had confirmed they'd be doing live interviews with Miles every 15 minutes for an hour and a half on their morning show, Cold Pizza.
"This is going to be huge, man," said Miles. "It's all exploding." As Nikki came out of the house holding Dorothy, Miles turned to her. "My head's blowing up, baby." Then he lowered his face to the infant's level. "What do you think of your daddy, Dorothy?"
"You're not there yet, honey, you're not there yet," said Nikki, cutting off Miles's self-congratulatory baby talk and handing him their daughter. "Keep it real."
Frequent contributor TIM SOHN recently completed his master's in history at Cambridge University.