The second thing you should know about me is I have a fear of falling. I’m not talking just a little apprehensive discomfort, I’m talk full on phobia here. I’ve actually had people try to cure me of this to astounding degrees of failure. One incident involved pulling me onto a log ride and sticking me in the very front. My brother Mike was directly behind me and knew this would take the fear out of me the minute we tumbled over the top. Well in a way he was right. The fear did leave me as soon as that thing made its downward tilt because I immediately passed the hell out and went limp in his arms. I came to when the water flew up and hit me square in the face at the bottom of the damn thing so needless to say the only thing I remembered about the fall back to earth was the slight titer totter that took place as the ‘log’ balanced at the top before it took its earthbound plunge.
Does this teach my brother or any of the others in our group that day, including me, no. They talk me into trying it again, I never said I was a coward, only this time they will put me in the middle and instead of my brother being the one who takes on the part of my support is Herb a guy that my brothers and I have been friends with since we were barely out of diapers. As a matter of fact my youngest brother Terry was still in diapers. Anyway away we went. The tick, tick, tick of the chain making contact with whatever it is under that damn fake log sounding like the tolling of a funeral bell to me. We get to the top, the tittering thing happens and then down we tilt and out I go. This time however I because I was sitting in the middle I didn’t get hit with the water so I woke up to being slapped in the face by Herb. Wait maybe I should think about this a moment. Did Herb figure I would pass out again and thought this might be his chance to get even for something I might have done to him when we were younger? Oh well if so maybe he feels even with me now and I’m safe. I hope.
Several years ago my wonderful hubby had to take a little business trip to Denver and he drug me along. This was something he started doing on a pretty regular basis after our girls were grown and we only had one another to look after. After spending three and a half days by myself while Buddy took care of business, I was fine with that by the way, we headed up in the Rockies. We are driving up this little two lane road cut into the side of a mountain and let me tell you there were some steep drop-offs along that road. My hubby as is his habit loves to take advantage of this and deliberately point things out that he knows are going to make me go white as a sheet and two sphincters that control a certain part of my body to draw up so tight that I’m surprised that that body part ever works normally again.
We pass a sign that says ‘winery up ahead’ and a small sense of relief takes over when I think I shall get a short break from the constant mind numbing fear that I feel at that moment. I’m also curious as to what the hell is a winery doing up on the side of that damn mountain.
“Hey, a winery.” I point out to my hubby.
“OK.” Was my husband’s response.
“Can we stop? I didn’t even know they had wineries in the mountains.” I know I’m going to get my way so I’m not concerned here.
“Sure, I you want to.” See.
We stopped. The first thing we are told as we enter after the usual hellos and few pleasantries you receive from people working in retail we are informed that you can’t taste more than five of their wines. Well that was a first, but what the hell. I usually don’t try more than that anyway but it was the first time I had ever heard that. The next thing I noticed was she poured even less into the glass for a tasting than anyone I had ever seen before. OK so they are a little tight on the sharing thing. No that isn’t it at all.
I actually did try five wines, they actually had some good one. I’m feeling nothing after the fifth one and with the amount of wine we tried this wasn’t surprising. I can usually try four or five wines when we stop at a place like this with no real issues. Then we stepped outside. I took a deep breath of low oxygen air and it hit me. I’m talking a great big whopping ‘oh boy what the hell is this’ type of hit. I cannot begin to explain the absolute magnificent feeling of total giddiness that overtook me. I’m talking I suddenly became the world’s happiest little camper that ever was. So happy in fact that I didn’t bother to ask my hubby if it had the same effect on him. I found out later that it didn’t, his tolerance to the stuff is far greater than mine, a lot great actually.
Back in the car we go and I suddenly I have a whole new outlook on the road, the scenery, and the prospect of us soaring off the side of a mountain. The road is great, the scenery is fabulous, and wow want that trip down be a hoot until we hit bottom. Whoopee. I will have to say that my hubby is getting concerned about my mental state at this point even if he is enjoying the fact that I’m not gasping and digging my nails into his arm on occasion now. The rest of the drive up to Estes Park is a pure joy for the most part except toward the end the lovely little feeling of the combination of a little bit of wine on my almost tee totaling self and the oxygen deprivation had worn off. I was sorely tempted to pull out one of the bottles of wine we had bought and chug it however Buddy nixed that idea. Damn joy kill.
I did at one point enjoy a glass of wine later on where we were staying but by then I had gotten use to the high atmosphere so no go. Evidently you only get one ride per trip so that’s a real bummer. Hey it’s been a while, maybe it’s time to make a trip to the Rockies once more.