Steering my parachute toward land, I reckon I've got plenty of room to clear those pine trees up ahead.

Then I see I'm falling more sharply than I thought. Suddenly the ground seems to be rushing, not floating, to meet me. The unintelligible instructions squawking from the radio on my chest grow more frantic.

Does Greg land on the ground - or in the trees?

Sitting sideways on the edge of the wooden dock, I look across Smith Lake and watch the trolley as it approaches on the overhead track. I grip the bar in front of me and tilt the wake board clamped to my feet.

How long can Greg remain on the wake board?

Standing bare-chested in the corner of a wrestling ring, I am reminded not to hold my breath.

Apparently it will make what is about to happen not hurt as much.

Greg finds out wrestling can be very painful

Even when I know it's coming, the moment I start to fall comes as a shock.

Even though I have been winched about 25 feet up in the air. Even though I am hanging from a cable tethered to pine trees on either side of me. Even though I know that when the countdown is over, I will be released and swing out over a 50-foot ravine.

Found out if Greg manages to avoid all the trees

There are wispy clouds beneath me when the pilot of the small plane up ahead signals that we've reached 2,000 feet.

The tow line pings free. Our hang glider dips, feeling for a second as if it will plunge into the Currituck Sound below.

Greg manages to get airborne - with a little help

I run hard across the top of the dune until my feet are running through air.

The sand of Jockey's Ridge State Park drops away. I'm almost 20 feet off the ground when I pull the bar of my eaglet glider in a little toward my chest. I swoop, flying parallel now with the descending dune.

Greg soars with the eagles. Or does he?

Let's be clear: I do manage to pilot the water-propelled jet pack fully out of the water at least twice.

But my few fleeting flights are, it's true, hopelessly outnumbered by the number of times I lurch this
way and that in the water, or get halfway airborne before launching myself headfirst back into the creek.

Does Greg manage to take flight?

Steering my kayak back toward land, my arms are tired. So are my shoulders. My chest hurts more than my arms and shoulders combined.

Find out what made Greg so tired and sore

Strapped inside a 12-foot inflatable globe, I ask attendant Matt Atherley about the standard procedure for being rolled down a hill in this thing.

He grins.

Follow Greg as he goes bouncing down the hill

Everyone knows mountain water is cold.

But in May, the water that tumbles down Sliding Rock is so cold that plummeting into the pool at the bottom feels, for a moment, like being kicked between the legs.

Will Greg suffer from hypothermia?

A 32-foot tall trapeze platform looks higher from up top than it does from the ground.

But tied to various safety ropes and with a safety net below, I'm not afraid. I'm too busy concentrating on what I have to do.

Find out if the safety net saves Greg

My arms tense as I battle to keep the steering wheel steady. The heat in the No. 12 car is fierce and the air stinks of fuel. But none of that matters. Not when I'm about to overtake another driver on the back stretch of the fabled Rockingham Speedway.

Find out if Greg makes it to the finish line