Rain

Rain

It’s a hot August day in eastern Kentucky.  My husband and I are staying in a cabin called “Hiker’s Retreat.” The owners of the cabin had advised us to print directions out ahead of time as phone service and GPS devices tend to be spotty down here.  The printed directions actually say, “After you reach the end of the gravel road turn left at the broken- down jeep.” 

This is about as rustic as we get.  The first morning of our weekend getaway I sit on the covered porch sipping Starbucks Veranda blend and getting the info about the natural bridge.  Natural Bridge State Park is about a ten-minute drive and features a naturally occurring arch about 75 feet high and 20 feet wide.  The best way to get to the top is to take the Sky lift we are told.  I am skeptical.  I haven’t been on a sky lift in about 20 years.   

I immediately flash to the reports about a woman being thrown from the Gatlinburg Mountain Coaster and those people dying from a carnival ride at the Ohio State Fair last summer.  But this sky lift is operated by the state park system.  It’s not privately owned.  Maybe they will have tighter quality control, tighter safety measures.  Surely the odds are better than driving a car I tell myself. 

I don’t tell Jan how I’m feeling a little scared about going up in a sky lift. It’s the best way to get to the top of the bridge.  When I was drinking my morning coffee on the porch a soft rain had fallen.  I bargained with myself, “Well if it doesn’t stop raining, we’ll just stay in and watch movies instead.”  But the sun came out and Jan’s weather app said clear skies till after 6pm.  It’s meant to be I tell myself. 

We have to wait in line at the sky lift gift shop to get our tickets.  There is a boy scout troop, some older couples, a young family with babes in arms, and a group of Asian college students all in line with us.  The shop is full of kitschy souvenirs—little bear statues, shot glasses that say “Natural Bridge”, mood rings, t-shirts, and a wide assortment of homemade fudge.  We resist purchasing anything but two adult tickets, $30.00 total plus tax. 

The sky lift scoops us up and we are headed up a mountain traveling upward at 65 degree or so angle.  There are multiple signs admonishing us to stay seated and to not shake the seats.  I don’t need any signs.  I’m gripping the ½ diameter metal bar that is between me and a free fall into a valley of rocks and trees so tightly that my knuckles are actually turning white.  I ask Jan if he is nervous and he says not at all.  I tell myself to let go of the bar and I turn my focus to taking a picture of the ride up the mountain.  I focus on how pretty it is and I relax.

When we reach the top about 10 minutes later a light rain starts falling.  We ignore it.  We walk the 600 ft or so further upward to get to the Natural Bridge.  But then the rain starts really falling hard.  We duck under a tree and for a minute we are shielded but then the intensity increases and the rain is falling, big fat drops, pelting us relentlessly.  I put both of cell phones in my small leather purse and remove my glasses.  The other hikers all seem to have rain ponchos or umbrellas.  We don’t even have hats. 

We can see the bridge from under the tree but we’re reluctant to walk out the sandstone structure.  It’s about 20 feet wide with no guardrails.   This is nuts.  Someone is going to slide off the side of this damn thing and fall to their death.  There’s no shelter up here save for the tiny overhang where the boys who operate the sky lift perch as they wait to help people go back down the mountain. 

We wait for the rain to stop or slow down. It is merciless.  Every inch of me is saturated.  The boys tell us the only way to get back down is via the same sky lift that brought us up.  They assure us that it is safe even in pouring down rain.  One young man senses my terror and tells me he’s rode it himself in the rain at least a dozen times.  He laughs as he starts to wipe down the seat of the sky lift chair ready to take us down and jokes how he doesn’t need to do that today. 

The ride down seems to be proceeding at a much faster than the ride up.  It feels like we are falling, but we’re not.  My eyes are tightly closed and I am humming Amazing Grace. Then I am praying silently, “God I don’t think I’m supposed to die this way.  But if I am going to die on this ride as least I want to die happy.”   I ask Jan if he is scared and he says no way, this is cool.  Maybe he is just being brave.  Maybe if he tells me he is not afraid he will convince himself.

So, I open my eyes and decide to start laughing at the absurdity of it all.  I try to savor this unique experience.  I tell Jan that we will remember this crazy ass rainy ride for the rest of our lives.  I decide to take a video.  I figure if we die because the sky lift malfunctions my family can use it for the lawsuit they will file with the state parks. And then if we don’t die, we will have this ride commemorated on the internet forever.  I hold Jan’s hand and tell him I love him-you know, just in case. 

But 10 minutes later we are back and safe at the sky lift gift shop landing deck.  Jan says, “That’s’ it I’m getting some fucking fudge, diet or no diet.”  I point out that he is eating to process his feelings.  Damn right, he says. 

So, he buys a ½ pound of fudge and we head back to the cabin.  We are so wet that we squeak when we move on the leather seats of the car.  We drive back to the cabin anxious to peel off our wet clothes.   I talk about how I am going to soak in the hot tub and make a stiff drink.   And as we turn past the broken-down jeep the sun comes out.