Or, the Lengths to Which One Will Go to Ensure That Her Husband
Has a Happy Birthday
by Robin Bonner
I Don’t Think So
Okay, so I’m not the bravest person in the world. I’ll admit that. Roller coasters were never my thing—there’s something about my stomach going in one direction and the rest of my body going in another that has just never appealed to me. And that being the case, in recent years, I’ve found myself also avoiding zip lines.
Yep, those lines.
Zip lining, now all the rave, is up there on my bucket list with skydiving—in the “never” category. For the uninitiated, zip lining is the act of flying through the woods from one high-up-in-a-tree platform to another, attached to a wire cable. And usually at least 25 feet off the ground. Yeah, you’re wearing a rock-climbing harness. And, yeah, your harness is attached to the cable with web “slings” and carabiners. But jumping off a wooden deck virtually into thin air and then careening through the trees like a banshee could not possibly be fun. I nearly lose my lunch just thinking about it.
Spring Mountain Ski Area in fall.
Nevertheless, in early September, a “Living Social” deal promising half off the usual $75 price ticket for a fast ride through the woods (they don’t call them zip lines for nothing) surfaced in my inbox. And, said woods were located at the beautiful Spring Mountain Ski Area (PA), only 5 minutes from our home. Gary had done the zip lines at Spring Mountain before, and ever since, he had been trying to convince me to go with him. To add to the pressure, his birthday was coming up (the deal would expire soon afterward), and I was in need of a fun gift to surprise him with.
So, I knew I had run out of excuses, for Gary would love nothing more for his birthday than to see me lose my cool on a zip line.
Well, the big day finally arrived. The coupon was good only on a weekday, so we chose a Friday. It was a beautiful November afternoon: chilly, but sunny and not too terribly cold. A great way to start the weekend, I thought—the rest of which I would surely spend in the hospital with a broken neck. At least I’d have a few days to recover before work on Monday. . . . I warned my coworkers and set up my e-mail “out-of-office” message: "I will be AWOL all afternoon, without access to e-mail, thank you very much." I hit “send” on my last correspondence of the day, and we jumped in the car, off to Spring Mountain.
Gary and Robin pre-zipping, in Spring Mountain Lodge.
We had been instructed to arrive at the ski lodge a half-hour before our 1:00 p.m. time slot, and I soon learned why. We were handed a two-page, single-spaced contract essentially exonerating Spring Mountain Adventures (SMA) from all liability, should we be maimed, or die, or even endure hurt feelings while in their care. (What?!?) To hell with that. If I died, I—or, rather, my heirs—would sue their asses off, contract or no contract. Needless to say, reading that doc didn’t do much to allay my fears.
I paced nervously. Who were the “instructors”? That self-assured group over there in the corner? I eyed them warily. We chatted with Shelly, a middle-aged mom who had brought her daughter and a friend. Shelly had zipped before and was looking forward to the day’s adventure with relish. Hmmm…what self-respecting middle-aged person would be caught dead doing this? (I had been attempting to avoid talking about zip lining using terminology associated with death—even in my thoughts—to no avail.)
I looked at Gary. He was as cool as a cucumber. This little adventure was a big mistake. What if I can’t hear the instructions? What if I can’t get the hang of what they’re telling us to do quickly enough? What if… It’s time to go?!? Okay, then. This is it. I walked out of the lodge with as much bravado as I could muster. By now 11 of us had gathered, and we chatted amicably as we followed our guides (yeah, they were that group over there in the corner) to the “equipment shed” at the other end of the parking lot.
Guides Mike and Kelly.
There we donned harnesses, carabiners, and webbing “slings,” which we carried for convenience around our necks, like a bridle. (There's something to be said for that, as we were soon led away, like horses.) Hard-hat helmets sat on our heads. Or, I should say, we were outfitted in these various accoutrements, because we didn’t touch anything ourselves. (We did, however, step into the climbing seat and buckle it ourselves.) The guides tested everything we wore, presumably for compliance with their safety standards. Our most important instruction was, “Don’t touch the black carabiner!” That was the piece of hardware that clipped everything onto our climbing harness—it was the lifeline that would keep us afloat in midair. But more about that later. . . .
While all of this was happening, by the way, very little explanation was offered about what to expect, something I was not at all happy about. I like to know what’s going on, so I can contemplate a process in advance and not rely on my rather fickle quick-wittedness. Simply put, I like a road map. (Of course, if I had done my homework and visited the Spring Mountain Adventures website in advance of our visit, I would have had somewhat of an idea about what to expect. We had signed up for the Full Monty Canopy Tour, evidently, which meant 2 to 3 hours of fun (all outlined on the website). In the end, we marched outside, like good little soldiers, but I did so a bit uneasily. (In retrospect, good thing I hadn't seen that bit about the Full Monty on the website. As I recall from a show I had seen, Full Monty had to do with "taking it all off," and associating that with zip lines would have really freaked me out.)
On the platform, clipped in.
Before heading to the canopy, our new friends—Kelly, Mike, Jake, and Justin—conducted an “ice breaker” on the ground: Each of us in turn was to (1) name our favorite destination and (2) tell what we’d do with the money if we won the lottery. The first two people said they’d travel to the highest mountains and spend their windfall on a sailing yacht, then sail around the world. Those were pretty much our choices as well, so it sounded like we were in good company. The task did serve its intended purpose, and we all began to joke around a bit. Our paramilitary guides seemed to enjoy our joie de vivre, even in the jaws of death. Or perhaps theirs were smiles of disdain; I couldn’t tell.
Up, Up, and Away
Once we were outfitted and had properly bonded with our zip-mates, we headed for the ski lift. Up we went, two by two. Spring Mountain is just a big hill, really, but what a view we had from that chair! At the top, I calculated my jump adequately and trotted away from the lift with ease, glad not to be on skis. No reason to make a fool of myself any earlier than I had to. For someone who couldn’t hear very well and whose limbs already ached with arthritis, it was touch and go. At the top, however, my confidence returned. After all, didn’t Gary and I routinely hike to these ski lifts via the trail up the back of the mountain? Didn’t we sit on the chairs of the silent lifts, dangling our feet a while? I’ll bet most of the others had never ever been up there.
The view of "Burma Bridge," from the ground.
We were still on familiar turf, but that was to change very quickly.
Now, I thought, where are the zip lines? I had been up here before, but I had never seen them. Once everyone reached the top, we followed the guides down a path to the right of the lift, around some sizeable boulders, and climbed up a wooden ladder to our first “platform.” (These “tree-conscious” landing sites are constructed of fiberglass and steel; SMA purports they are the strongest in the industry. I should mention that strong or not, the platforms have no railings!)
A guide immediately clipped our web sling onto a heavy-duty cable around a huge tulip poplar tree (almost four feet in diameter) at the center of the platform. We literally could not fall if we wanted to; we remained clipped onto that cable, walking around the rail-less platform, until a guide moved the carabiner onto the “zip” cable. I found this funny because I’d been rock climbing many times and had so much more control over what I was doing at the rock gym than I did here. What the heck was I worried about? These people have a system, and that system is to make sure nothing is left to chance, that is, left to neophytes like us.
Robin's first zip.
We stood around on the platform for a few minutes, waiting for everyone to climb aboard, and I had my first chance to look around. What a view! It was November, so few leaves were left on the trees, and it seemed that I could see for miles, across the wooded hillside and beyond. I had brought ear muffs and gloves, but the afternoon sun took away just enough of the chill that I left both in my pocket. I turned to the guy behind me. “You know, this is what we always wanted to do as kids when we built tree forts,” I said, “The stuff our parents wouldn’t let us do—you know, sail through the trees from one tree fort to another.” “Yeah,” he agreed, and a smile spread across his face. It was his first time zip lining, as well, and he, too, was a little nervous. We were finally going to get to traverse the sky, from fort to fort. And, we weren’t doing any of it ourselves other than stepping over the edge.
An edge that was 25 feet off the ground. Our reverie was short lived. With no time to think about it (by design, I’m sure, so no one has a chance to wimp out), we were jumping off the platform, one by one, like paratroopers out the door of a military cargo plane. Here’s the sequence: They clip you onto the cable, then you grab the webbing, yell that you’re ready, and wait for a confirmation from the other side. Suddenly, off you go!
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!
Walking a tightrope.
Wow, that’s exhilarating! You try not to let your body spiral (usually to no avail). The “brake” they put on the line slows you down, so no worries there. You just need to remember to lift your feet as you approach the opposite platform. Thud! Okay, you made it. Then you turn to watch the others behind you zip across and land in place, their expressions incredulous. Of course, you’re feeling smug by now, as though it’s all old hat.
Ahhh! Maybe I’m going to survive this after all.
Zippity Do-Da
My, oh, my, what a wonderful day! But, of course, as soon as we got used to zipping—whammo!—they changed things on us. First thing I knew, I was picking my way carefully across a swaying metal gangway (the 65-ft “Burma Bridge”), hanging for dear life onto two waist-high ropes that paralleled the path my feet were taking. And, as I made my way across, these hand-holds first moved away from and then toward me (and sometimes did both at the same time). The best approach, I found, was to steadily and carefully keep my balance while moving forward slowly, to avoid making the bridge sway any more than necessary. It was hard to resist making a break for it once I was halfway across, however. All would be good if you could get across quickly and without falling, but you had to find that “break even” point. For some reason, the quote “May you be in heaven a half an hour before the devil knows you’re dead” came to mind during this crossing. In retrospect, I can see why.
The "Cargo Net" challenge.
Another platform offered a “tightrope” instead of a zip line: On this “Vine Traverse Bridge” (per the SMA website) we hung onto a swinging rope or the overhead cable (to which we were tethered) while we edged our way along the tightrope to cross over the abyss. This feat took more time, skill, and determination than the zip line, but we could do it. The worst thing that could happen if we lost our footing was that we’d fall off the tightrope and dangle from the cable for a moment, and then pull ourselves back up again. A screw-up would be a mere inconvenience; it wouldn’t cost us life or limb. Still, it was best just to walk across the damned thing carefully the first time. (Did I mention that SMA boasts using ½-inch galvanized cable, with a breaking strength of 24,000 lb?)
Once I realized I was safe enough and now also having fun, I had energy and good humor to spare. I began taking photos and cheering the others on. After all, I rock climb: So, I was okay with the climbing seat, am no stranger to carabiners, and was able to quickly move past the fear-of-heights thing. Further, with our four trusty guides doing all the clipping for us, we hadn’t much else to do. I could enjoy the view and have a good time. Now I understood why, back at the lodge, Gary had looked cool, calm, and collected. This was a no-brainer.
But that’s not to say it wasn’t challenging.
Gary zipping off into the sun. on one of the longest runs.
As soon as the slightest bit of complacency crept in, we found we needed to rappel off a platform down to the ground and do something unexpected. The next station had a boat-rigging type of rope “net,” extending from the ground up to the platform, tapering as it rose into the air. (They called this one the “Cargo Net” climbing area.) Our goal was to climb up the net, two by two, vying to be the first to reach the top. We weren’t clipped into a cable for that one, so we did need to be careful.
There were a couple of other “tightrope” stations—one involved moving our feet along a cable while hanging onto a series of knotted ropes. Another (the “Tyrolean Bridge”) necessitated hoisting ourselves up onto a huge, thick rope and grabbing it with legs and arms, then shimmying across to the next platform. We were clipped onto an overhead cable for all such crossings. Good thing, too, because many of us didn’t make it across that last one while shimmying! I had to bail out with only about three feet to go, as my arms just gave out. Watching everyone else, I realized that the trick lay in “scootching” as quickly as possible through the first half, saving one's arm strength for the “uphill” second half. Oh, well, next time!
The zips, which increased in length, pitch, and therefore also in speed, as the session progressed, were awe inspiring. One ride sent us screaming over 280 feet of cable, during which the speed of our hurtling bodies could approach 45 mph! (We were cautioned to use the “cannonball” technique for this one, as we would be just missing trees to either side. Don’t ask me; it was a blur.)
Robin does the "Dead Man's Challenge.
One of most interesting portions of the zip journey was what I’m going to call the “Dead Man’s Challenge.” The idea was to fall backwards off the platform, with legs straight and arms out in a T, like a dead body. Um, right. I think my exact words when they announced this one were, “Yeah, hel-lo!” As if you could just fall off the platform backwards, on your own, without passing out! Well, as with the rest of these tree-top challenges, we could always opt to do it the easy way—by jumping off the platform forward, while hanging onto the webbing, and just whizzing through the air. Funny how on the first platform, that didn’t sound easy at all. Well, I figured there was no harm in trying the dead man approach, so, that’s what I did. I added a blood-curdling scream, too, for good measure. The result was not too shabby.
We wrapped up our day (about 2 hours total) with the “Tower Zipline”—an amazing 340-ft-long screaming ride out of the woods to the “Rock Climbing Tower,) where our last challenge of the day was to complete a long rappel down to the ground. Once again on solid earth, we shed helmets, harness, and webbing among collective whoops of delight. We did it! Our adventure behind us, we made our way back to the equipment shed to return our gear, and, sadly, to say goodbye to our new friends.
Rappeling down from the tower.
Wow, a lot had happened in the past couple of hours, and I looked around with new eyes. It was the same ski area I’d driven past and hiked through countless times before. But, now I’d been to the Promised Land—I mean the top—on the chair lift, and made my way back down via zip lines. Amazing! It was a gorgeous, sunny, November Friday and I had spent the afternoon outside, mostly in a canopy of trees. And, Gary had experienced a happy birthday adventure with his wife at his side, and, when all was said and done, still in one piece. What more could either of us ask for?
