Free Time Fries! by Fay Jacobs Page A

vacation. I will allow myself about 45 minutes a day to report to you via the e-machine. Til then…I’m signing off. Over and out, real and virtual friends. The e-machinist has left the building.

August 2011
    Z IPPITY -D O -D AH
    When my mate suggested we do a zip line through the trees in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, I knew it was way outside my comfort zone, but I had read the brochure. “Family fun. Ages 9 and up. A stunning view over the tree canopy.”
    How bad could it be? I don’t know what I pictured. Maybe a starter zip, a zip line light, a mini-zip. I felt sure we’d be on the bunny slope of zip lines.
    I was buttressed into my gear, complete with helmet and body harness, then lectured on safety by a Paul Bunyan-like 20-year old. Okay, there really were children getting outfitted and their parents weren’t calling 911.
    But when the instructor offered advice about controlling flight speed, reality bit. For me, was the “appropriate clothing” suggested by the brochure a diaper?
    Nervous and weighed down by gear, I toddled off to the zip site. Then the guide said, “For the first zip we will launch from the ground.”
    FIRST?? I saw the enormity of my blunder.
    The guides attached me and my industrial strength canvas harness to a block and tackle pulley system, on a cable between the ground and a teeny tiny platform on a tree a mile down the mountainside. I was about to zip into the next zip code.
    â€œStand on this boulder, crouch to a sitting position and gently push off,” said Big Foot the guide. Great, I can’t do squats at the gym and I’m supposed to squat on a rock? I felt like a Sumo wrestler trying for the lotus position.
    â€œAnd if you feel yourself spinning right or left, simply turn into the spin, like a car turning into a skid in the snow.” Crap. I never understood that concept.
    I could feel the muscular guide’s open hand on my back, gently suggesting it was time for me to slide my scrunched-up torso off the boulder and down over the trees.
    Zippity-do-daaauuggghhh!!!
    I hit the air, the harness locked to the cable and I was off, semi-squatting, screaming, arms in the air, hanging by my thighs and crotch. What part of the word zip didn’t you understand, you moron? God, don’t let me pee!
    I started to spin, helpless to right myself, zipping backwards toward the tree platform. “Incoming! Incoming!” I howled, sure I’d wipe out the unfortunate mountain man poised to snag me.
    Apparently there was a wood block rigged to stop my forward motion, which, when I hit it, sounded like a gunshot. But no such luck. Unshot, marginally alive, I was passed, like a sack of Idaho potatoes, from one athlete to another to get rigged for a second zip.
    When my spouse landed on the platform behind me, I spat, “I’m going to kill you!” just as the guide instructed me to jump off.
    I gaped at the tree tops below. I was supposed to leap into mid-air, trusting the skinny cable to keep me from free fall? I’d rather die than bungee jump. I can’t even jump into a swimming pool for pity’s sake, much less sky dive! What am I doing here?
    â€œI can’t do this,” I muttered.
    â€œYou have to,” said Sasquatch. “There’s no other way down.”
    By this time, zippers were piling up behind me as I stared, paralyzed, into the void.
    â€œBut I can’t…Auuggghhh!!!!” Jumped or pushed? We’ll never know.
    What beautiful tree canopy??? With my eyes shut I could have been zipping over the county dump. And it’s funny about gravity. The featherweight nine year olds had time to look around, but this big broad came zipping down the line like a freakin’ space shuttle.
    Zooming into the next outpost, hands in a death grip at the harness holds, praying I wouldn’t kill anybody, I wound upsuspended in midair, swinging like a fresh side of beef. I mouthed,