WE FLY THROUGH THE AIR WITH THE GREATEST OF EASE
I am not a fan of danger. The fad for extreme sports, the likes of bungee jumping, has passed me by. Not even closely, but at some considerable distance, where I feel it belongs. I get quite enough of an adrenaline rush running for a bus or contemplating a new curry recipe. Any more than that is too much more. The brave are welcome to it.
I have never been to Alton Towers, or any similar experience, and I doubt I ever will. There were a couple of the smaller rides at Blackpool's Pleasure Beach complex. And twice I had a go on the spinning chairs ride Edinburgh parked next to the Scott Monument (our very own Thunderbird Three) for the Xmas period. The latter has gone now, to be replaced by a device called the Star Flyer, on the edge of Saint Andrew's Square.
We first saw this at the beginning of December. It is brightly lit, interesting to view in a neon lit scaffolding sort of a way, and goes up much higher than the previous ride. Much, much higher. Watching from the ground, and listening to the shrieking from above and the comments of other bystanders, I concluded this was not for me. Yet another experience I'd be more than happy to avoid, based on the wisdom that comes with age. And yet....
The memory of it nagged at me. Even after seeing the headlines when a bit fell off. There was no harm done to the occupants of the chair, and, very fortunately, the falling debris missed anyone below. All of which was, paradoxically, reassuring in a counter-intuitive way. If something like that could happen, but, after investigation, it was deemed safe to continue, then that probably meant it was very safe indeed. And when the high winds and storms came they were quick to close it down. Danger actually seemed to be low on the list of possible outcomes.
None of which would have got me up there but for the simultaneous occurrence of two events. I was out and about with my oldest friend, and we tend to spur each other on in matters of daftness. PLus I'd consumed four (or was it five?) pints. That these should both happen at the same time is not coincidental.
Having made the decision we positively rushed towards the ticket office and clambered aboard to take our places. A sober me would not have recognised, or wanted to be associated with, this person. And very soon we were off, rising into the air and turning anti clockwise as we went. Having hooked my camera on to my wrist I largely concentrated on filming the occasion, if only to remind myself who it was had been up there.
In the event it turned out to be slightly disappointing on the scary scale (the old ride in Princes Street Gardens was faster and more alarming). We went up high enough to be well clear of the rooftops, and the views were amazing. Or could have been if we weren't spinning too quickly to focus on any one point for very long. For all the joking we indulged in the only mildly worrying moment came as we descended and our arc took us ever closer to the roof tops on the south side of the square. Sensibly the speed of rotation dropped dramatically and we returned to a perpendicular attitude. The suddenness of this adjustment moved my insides in a way that neither the spinning nor the height had achieved.
And then we were back. Not even dizzy, not all that exhilarated and not in the slightest bit chilled (it is unseasonably warm for early January). No hint of wobble on finding a solid surface beneath the feet. Just a sense of "is that all there was?" I am, it seems, less of a wuss that I thought I was. But you still won't find me diving off a cliff with a big rubber band around my middle.
