Zip-A-De-Do-Dah, Indeed!

This morning I sat wrapped in my blanket sipping a hot cup of tea, watching out the window as my shivering neighbor shoveled snow. My half-assed attempt to tamp down the rising bitterness lasted only a few seconds. I wished evil on that snow. I imagined how much more satisfying it would be to watch my neighbor if somehow the evil snow could be made to feel each metal scrape of the shovel. Okay, okay...I know I'm whining. But it is a mighty harsh transition from the balmy 84º temps of the Caribbean to the arctic tundra that is now the Texas Panhandle. Seriously, was it really just a few days ago that I was flying over treetops in the Virgin Islands...?

Given the choice between spending a day on the 'clothing-optional' Orient Beach or risking my life on a extreme zipline excursion through a dry rain forest while fully clothed, the choice - for me - was crystal clear. I belatedly discovered that the Dickman had been a bit more, uhhh...indecisive. As we passed the beach on our trepidous journey to the zipline I caught him pressing his face up against the window of the taxi, pitifully straining his eyes for a hopeful glimpse of boobies.

Our first inkling we were in for a true adventure came when three cab drivers in a row refused to take us to our destination. Finally, one brave driver begrudgingly agreed to make the 40-minute drive up the mountain to Loterie Farm, a breathtakingly beautiful nature reserve atop the island of St. Martin in the French West Indies.

Once there, we collectively flexed our glutes and sucked in our guts (well, as much as possible after gorging on cruise ship food) in hopes that our guide - The Birdman - would have no qualms about taking a foursome of 50+ year olds through the Flyzone Xtreme, an "eco-adventure for thrill seekers". Alas, all our gut and butt sucking was a waste of muscle contraction, as The Birdman turned out to be one of those guys that puts the 'ass' in passive-aggressive. He took one look at us, tossed out a bunch of harnesses and gloves and resumed singing along to the reggae blasting through his earbuds. I dared to interrupt him, politely asking if anyone had ever died on this particular zipline (inquiring minds want to know). His answer was, "Not so far today, but eef you cannot finish zee zip line you vill have to find your way back down zee mountain". Admittedly, his French accent did help soften the blow.

So there we were with our first hurdle: how to don the harnesses. We weren't about to ask The Birdman for direction, instinctively knowing if we couldn't figure out a harness, we would be labeled Zipline Losers. After hopping around like a bunch of knuckleheads, we finally got all 8 legs in the proper loops. And to our amazement, the very moment our loins became fully girded we were instantly transformed into Zipline Warriors. Just like that. What is it about wearing a crotch harness that is so empowering...?

Here's a photo showing Dickie & Dewey's best (and most comfortable) side, post-harnessing. (FYI: It is true what they say about cargo pants - they really are a gateway drug to fanny packs. Vacationers, BEWARE.)

Before we could say Geronimoooooo! we found our harnessed and cabled selves stepping off a perfectly good platform and out into thin air...zipping over and through the mango and palm trees. Not only did we defy the laws of gravity, we even proved a few. After becoming intimate with a few tropical trees while traveling the speed of sound, Susan and I actually discovered Newton's First Law to be spot-on. If you look closely you can see me --- I'm the maniacally shrieking dot in the distance...




We quickly became a team of Flyzone Rock Stars...Birdman, Dickman & Robin, Dewey & Sewey. The longest zip was about a 1/2 mile long, the highest more than 50 feet above terra firma.

Not only were we jumping and zipping, we were also walking like ninjas over suspended log bridges and cable tightropes AND dodging random droppings of monkey poop all along the way.

Here's a short clip of Dickie, Susan and Dewey demonstrating their various zip line techniques, i.e. The Spread Eagle, The Premature Stoppage, and The Perfect Landing:



At the end of our 2-hour adventure, we were drenched in sweat, high on residual adrenaline and I was proudly showing off my collection of bruises like medals of honor. Most surprisingly, we had bonded with The Birdman. Although he alternately ignored and abused us under life-threatening conditions, laughed hysterically at our lack of technique...he never once doubted our ability to meet the challenge of the Flyzone Extreme.