Press Room
Power of Paragliding
It is precisely in the midst of a moment like this, I reflected, when it can be most beneficial to pause, take a deep breath and think about the path that has led to the current circumstance. In this particular case, I felt the need to ruminate while strapped to a disconcertingly attractive paraglide pilot, standing near the edge of a precipice 3,000 vertical feet over Jackson Hole, Wyo., waiting—so nervous my entire body was not just shaking but actually vibrating—for the signal to begin running toward what could possibly be a very unpleasant end.
Ironwomen
It wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d been honest with me about her biking abilities. We were in the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon—my buddy, the very swanky novelist Carolyn Turgeon, and I—in the midst of our own little version of the Ironman competition. And it wasn’t going well. At least not for me. Which was annoying, because I consider myself the more outdoorsy, adventure-sporty one of us.
Higher Calling
The residents of Colorado take vim and vigor seriously. Folks there tend to think things like mountain biking down the face of the Rockies and scaling cliffs the height of the Sears Tower are a nice way to unwind on the weekend. So when the City of Boulder’s website rated the Royal Arch Trail as “moderate,” I should have perhaps taken that designation with a grain of salt. Or realized that what is “moderate” for superhumans who dwell a mile above sea level may not be “moderate” for, say, me.
Wild Rides
Apparently, I could be heard clear across the park. No, I take that back. From what I was told, I could definitely be heard clear across Dollywood. In fact, I’d be surprised if I wasn’t heard deep into the splendid heart of the neighboring Smoky Mountains. I picture a shallow, clear stream, a young doe drinking delicately from its gurgling waters, an eagle soaring overhead. Then suddenly, interrupting the bucolic stillness, a long, drawn-out scream, about the same pitch as a tea kettle: “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my Gaaawwwd!!!”
I'm A Lumberjack
So there I was, standing in the soft, loamy dirt in the Snider Agricultural Arena’s ring, watching a trio of female Penn State students engage in what is known in lumberjack circles as a horizontal chop. They stood atop a short, horizontal log, raising a very sharp axe high above their heads and then swinging it with great speed and force downward toward the disconcertingly small section of the log between their feet.
The Ice Queen
There’s one thing you have to be able to give up if you want to pursue adventure: comfort. In fact, precisely which little luxuries you’re willing to forsake helps determine the sort of adventures in which you’ll want to participate. For example, if you’re the kind of person who’s willing to pee down the leg of her own wetsuit while not only avoiding cranky moray eels but also ruining a perfectly good manicure with prolonged salt water exposure, then you’d probably love to join the lunatics who explore undersea caves.
Finding Balance
When my instructor at New Mexico’s Angel Fire Resort asked me if I was “athletic,” I wondered if he was perhaps under the influence of some kind of monstrous psychedelic drug. I’ve been called many things, but athletic was never one of them.
Things That Go Bump In The Night
I don’t know if I believe in ghosts. But I adore scary movies, especially those about disembodied dead people who do spooky stuff like making rocking chairs move all by themselves. Which is why I thought it would be fun staying at Gettysburg’s Farnsworth House Inn.