by Carolyn Price
Dangling from a one-inch cable in my harness at 70 feet in the southern Oregon Siskiyous, all I could think about was not looking down— and what a good life I’ve had.
Somewhere along this zipline run, I had run out of “zip,” and didn’t have enough momentum to land me firmly on the platform 10 feet out of reach. Thus, I was now suspended among a forest of tall, very tall, evergreens.
In my panic, I suddenly felt a Tarzan Jane urge to swing myself over to one of those fine-looking conifers 30 feet away.
But then reality hit — I was neither Jane nor Tarzan. I was a terrified middle-aged woman, strapped into a tight-fitting harness, waiting for a young muscle-bound punk to save me.
“Don’t worry,” my rescuer Adam called out to me, “I’ll get you. This happens all the time.”
Standing safely on the platform was easy for him to say, I numbly thought. But true to his word, Adam was there in a moment, like the old cartoon character Dudley Do Right rescuing the hapless Nell tied to the railroad tracks, clipping onto me and pulling us both hand-over-hand up the line to the landing platform.
This was the next to the last run at Out ‘n’ About Treehouse Ziplines near Cave Junction last summer while on vacation with my family. The ziplining was an adventure more spearheaded by our 9-year-old daughter than me. I have to say, I’ve had tamer vacations.
I now know I need to take a closer look at that phrase, “my kid is keeping me young” for future adventure outings.
Suspended so far from the ground that day, my dignity took a nose dive, being hauled up the cable like a sack of potatoes. But my dignity survived. And so did I.
I was saved and Adam became my new hero! That is until he reminded me there was only one way to get down from that very high, very safe, platform. Yup. Get right back on the horse, uh, I mean zipline, and try it again.
At least this one landed me safely on the ground.
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