Fliying in the face of gravity

Jennifer Medina has an article in The New York Times about flying, sort of:

When the jetpacks first began flying in Newport Beach, California a few years ago, they were their own best form of advertising. Residents and tourists would see a person strapped to a small water-propelled rocket, whooshing high above the ocean, then wander into the small storefront tucked behind a bayside dock and ask: “Can I do that, too?”
“Absolutely,” the answer came, for a price. For $179, a beginner can be flying in midair within the hour, taking a brief lesson before trying a fifteen-minute spell of living out a science fiction dream. (The fact that would-be fliers rely on their abilities— and maneuvering the jetpack is tricky— tends to be de-emphasized.)
“The first time your feet get out of the water, it’s like a magical superhuman-powers kind of thing,” said Soheil Alavikia, who had come from Los Angeles, California with his girlfriend to celebrate his 25th birthday. Within minutes of his arrival, Alavikia was twenty-some feet in the air, turning rapidly and controlling the up and down motion with his arms, which had been strapped to the jetpack. “It totally feels like flying, which is the most magical thing I’ve ever done,” he said afterward.
While demand for such thrill rides seems limitless, the supply has been curtailed by the Newport Beach City Council. Alarmed by noise complaints and safety concerns, the council approved a six-month moratorium on new jetpack businesses this summer, dashing the hopes of several would-be operators. The move has left Jetpack America as the only oceanfront flight school in town for now, cornering the market on what some see as an ever-expanding audience, thanks in large part to video clips posted online and Internet deals that lure new customers to the shores of Newport Beach, an idyllic setting less than fifty miles southeast of Los Angeles, California.
Dean O’Malley, the owner of Jetpack America, which also operates in San Diego, California and Honolulu, Hawai'i, says he welcomes the competition and would like to see the market expand.
In Newport Beach, on summer days, more than twenty customers take flight and the lessons can sell out more than a month in advance. (The allure is as much about bragging rights as the actual experience: The company sells high-definition videos of a customer’s flight, “professionally edited to the song of your choice”, as well as a package of photos suitable for posting on Facebook.)
“There’s more than enough demand to go around, both here and in other beach cities,” said O’Malley, whose company also sells jetpacks to individuals and people who want to go into the jetpack joy-ride business. “We want this to be a legitimate part of the industry and the kind of thing you can do anywhere you’d go on a beach vacation. We’re nowhere near that, and we’ve barely scratched the surface.”
But city officials want to explore what requirements should be in place for such businesses, which send people up to forty feet in the air on machines that can go propel them up to thirty miles per hour. This summer, when two more companies inquired about opening up shop in the harbor and another went ahead recruiting customers without any kind of city approval, Chris Miller, the harbor resources manager for Newport Beach, said he thought it was time to step back. “This is a unique business for us, and we just think it’s wise that we consider the whole issue before moving forward,” Miller said.
The jetpack universe is small, but growing. There are similar companies at beaches in New Jersey, Florida, and Maryland, where in July of 2014 the state issued safety regulations for jetpack devices, requiring that customers be at least sixteen years old and use a helmet to go more than ten feet up. In addition to the outposts that O’Malley operates in Hawai'i and California, he plans to open a site at an artificial lake near Las Vegas, Nevada. But so far Newport Beach appears to be the most popular destination— it is the only beach where a couple has exchanged wedding vows while flying.
The devices once cost roughly a hundred thousand dollars, and the steep price of entry stopped many would-be owners from getting into the business. But now they are a fraction of that; O’Malley sells a jetpack that attaches to a Jet Ski for only ten thousand dollars. As other similar devices that rely on water to thrust the wearer into the air have come on the market, businesses started to proliferate. Residents complained about the noise, similar to the Jet Skis that have dominated beaches for years now. Here in Newport Beach, city officials wondered if a rash of injuries would soon come from flying too fast, too high or just too ineptly.
Supporters of the jetpacks say that the devices offer a safer adventure activity than Jet Skiing or paragliding, which have become commonplace in resorts. So far, jetpacks have retained their novelty factor. “People look up in the sky to see someone flying, and think there’s going to be some sort of alien invasion,” O’Malley said. “We’ve gotten calls from the police, the Coast Guard, the FAA— people just don’t know how to respond.”
Operating the devices is somewhat similar to controlling a video game joystick: riders are strapped to a large seat-like contraption and outfitted with a helmet that allows them to hear an instructor giving guidance through a walkie-talkie. For rookie pilots, the instructor holds a remote that allows control of how much water force is used.
Paul Wilks, 49, a self-described adrenaline junkie from Phoenix, Arizona, has sky-dived and bungee-jumped more times than he can count. His jetpack lesson was a surprise gift from his wife, who watched from the shore. “Who doesn’t dream of flying?” asked Wilks, a construction contractor, seconds before he stepped to the edge of the boat and got into the water. His instructor, John Stanley, gave him firm directions: “While you’re flying, your goal is maintain your own altitude, so try to stay in a nice straight line.” But Wilks, who was far more accustomed to steering unpredictable off-road vehicles, seemed to keep veering right and left. Just moments after soaring into the air, he crashed face-first into the water (though the only thing he apparently hurt was his ego). By the time he seemed to get the hang of it, the boat operator was monitoring the seconds he had left on his twenty-minute flight. He emerged from the water undaunted, and unwilling to say the adventure had not lived up to his expectations. “I can see I’d have to do it a lot more before I am free to do the cool things these guys can do,” he said, motioning to one of the instructors who was then flying in a tight circle at thirty-plus miles per hour, as the boat went back to the dock. “But I’d definitely come back and try. It is flying.”

Rico says it's another thing he won't be doing...