When my long-time pal Pam the Kindergarten Teacher and I decided in January to take a road trip back to the scene of our high school senior skip trip, Rockaway Beach, Missouri, I started checking out activities that would be fun and different.
We've both done just about everything there is to do in the 45 years since we graduated from Fredonia High School. She's well-traveled and has been to Hawaii, Germany, and Ireland. I've hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and motorcycled from coast to coast. What could we do that was new to us old birds? Ah ha! There it is advertised on my computer screen! The Branson Zipline!
But would Pam be game? Of course she would! She works with five-year-olds and is in danger every day! So, we strapped on harnesses and hard hats Saturday, signed our lives away on the dotted line, hopped into a jeep, and were driven up to some swinging rope bridges deep into the Ozark Forest.
We were with four other zip lining virgins and two zip guides, the youthful Jen and Justin, who swore they were experienced and would get us back to the ground in one piece, more or less. We'd paid to zip on four different lines. "Any questions?" J and J asked after telling us the basics.
"Has anyone ever done the first zip and then refused to do the next three?" I asked. "Has anyone ever thrown up?" I'm always ready with intelligent questions.
Convinced this was going to be a cinch and the harness was latched and could bear my weight, I volunteered to take the lead--"Wheeeeeeeee! That was fun! Let's do it again!" It was a breeze! Pam and I agreed this was ever so much better than getting on a roller coaster and looping into a stomach-churning panic. We'd do it again, if given the chance and some spare $$ to blow, and I've already started checking out zip line attractions in Arkansas and Colorado.
Are we ready to be even more daring and go bungee or parachute jumping? No way! Zipping is as zippy as we two swinging seniors care to get.
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