September 13, 2011 - Sundance Ski Lift in Clay's words
Tonight was supposed to be moonlit date night. What’s not to love, right? Full moon, misty mountain tops, beautiful and scenic Sundance Resort.
That was the theory, anyway. The truth? We just spent an hour suspended by a hook, dangling in the wind, connected to a lawn chair about a bazillion feet up in the air. At least, I *think* it was a bazillion feet, because we couldn’t exactly see the ground. What ground we COULD see was covered in these tiny little bushes and scrub that later turned out to be…the tops of thousand-million feet tall trees.
We were surrounded by happy couples, lounging in their thin-metal couches suspended from their little hooks. They were obviously oblivious to the imminent doom; most happy romantic couples weren’t even USING THE SAFETY BAR….nor were they even centered in their contraption! Did no one tell them about the spear-pointed tree tops a bazillion feet below them? Or the jagged teeth of rock just waiting to chew them up and spit them out?
We plotted an escape at the halfway point; had there been an employee parked up top with a vehicle, we were bribing our way back down via truck.
There were no trucks, so we stayed on board, secure in the knowledge that we were halfway finished.
Going down would surely be easier on the nerves than going up, right?
No.
I focused on the moon, made like I was on a boat, and the gentle rocking was due to waves. To think it was gale-force winds buffeting our skyhook? Preposterous. We were safe and sound in some northern sea, that’s all.
About an hour after this “romantic” adventure ended, I was safe and sound in the Owl Bar sipping an Old Fashioned (Maker’s Mark, thanks), with barely a perceptible tremor left in the hands.
I’ll never be a skier, skydiver, or highrise window washer.
That was the theory, anyway. The truth? We just spent an hour suspended by a hook, dangling in the wind, connected to a lawn chair about a bazillion feet up in the air. At least, I *think* it was a bazillion feet, because we couldn’t exactly see the ground. What ground we COULD see was covered in these tiny little bushes and scrub that later turned out to be…the tops of thousand-million feet tall trees.
We were surrounded by happy couples, lounging in their thin-metal couches suspended from their little hooks. They were obviously oblivious to the imminent doom; most happy romantic couples weren’t even USING THE SAFETY BAR….nor were they even centered in their contraption! Did no one tell them about the spear-pointed tree tops a bazillion feet below them? Or the jagged teeth of rock just waiting to chew them up and spit them out?
We plotted an escape at the halfway point; had there been an employee parked up top with a vehicle, we were bribing our way back down via truck.
There were no trucks, so we stayed on board, secure in the knowledge that we were halfway finished.
Going down would surely be easier on the nerves than going up, right?
No.
I focused on the moon, made like I was on a boat, and the gentle rocking was due to waves. To think it was gale-force winds buffeting our skyhook? Preposterous. We were safe and sound in some northern sea, that’s all.
About an hour after this “romantic” adventure ended, I was safe and sound in the Owl Bar sipping an Old Fashioned (Maker’s Mark, thanks), with barely a perceptible tremor left in the hands.
I’ll never be a skier, skydiver, or highrise window washer.
