My husband and I have an unusual tradition for celebrating our anniversary. We didn’t intend for this to be a metaphor, but it’s a little too on the nose. We drive, surf, boat, cycle, hike in snow, rappel, or do some activity in which we’re moving forward, together. Sometimes we live a little on the edge. We just celebrated our 32nd anniversary, and this year’s transportation activity was tamer but fun–we rode rail carts near Monterey. The carts are based on those handcars you see in old timey movies, where train robbers comically pump the handles of a cart on the tracks to make their getaway.
In our case, the cart was pedal-operated, with an ebike motor, so we had a fun, pretty low key ride on the old railroad tracks that run along the Marina sand dunes. And we weren’t escaping the sheriff, we were escaping 100-plus degree temperatures in the Bay Area. The high in Monterey that day was 71 degrees. It was so much fun, and like most of our “propelling” adventures, we both had to do our part to make it work.
These adventures don’t always turn out as we envisioned.
Several years ago, we decided to try rappelling in a huge underground cavern—Moaning Caverns in Calaveras County. Both of us were a little afraid of it. It was probably better that we didn’t know anything about rappelling. We watched the safety video and listened to the guides, who all had a very dark sense of humor. A teenager putting on his gear asked: What if I change my mind when I’m going down? The guides laughed and exchanged glances. “Too late. You’re on your own, kid.”
Pete and I couldn’t rappel together since they lower one person down into the cavern at a time. You go down wearing a helmet, wrapped in a vest, and suspended by a rope with a winch, so you gradually let out the rope as you descend into the cavern’s 175-foot depths. Pete went first. I felt sick to my stomach as I saw him disappear into the small tube of rock, the entrance to the cavern. When I went down it, it felt like a birth canal, tight and claustrophobic. If you’ve never done this before, there’s no way to picture what the enormous cavern will look like once you descend into it.
For me, a tall person who hates small spaces, I thought this would be the worst of it. Once I get out into the cavern, I’ll breathe easier, and this will be a lot of fun! I waited for that rush of relief when I made it to the cavern. I saw the lights below and lowered myself down. Holy sh**. Over a hundred feet directly underneath me, I saw a huge, gaping black hole. So deep that I couldn’t see a bottom to it. Panic skittered through me. The only thing that kept me from freaking out was praying–and focusing on the face of the rock wall directly in front of me. I knew if I kept looking at that rock wall and saw myself descending in a controlled way—I would be okay. I was operating the winch to let out the rope, and I could control how fast I went down. I took a deep breath. These words came to me. They would get me through not just this, but hard times I faced in my life from this point on.
Focus on what’s in front of you. One minute at a time. Don’t think about anything else. Trust me, you will get there.
Soon I heard voices below me. “We’ve got the rope. We’re gonna pull you to the side when you get close.” I let out the winch, and I came down slowly. Finally, I felt myself swing wide to the side. I gently landed on my two feet, on solid, visible ground. I almost wet my pants with relief. Pete was on the stairs that led back up, watching me. He said he’d been more terrified watching me than he’d been on his own trip down the rope. For about an hour, we were giddy with adrenaline and wanted to go back up and do it again. But not long after that, the desire for a return trip completely left us.
Over the years, we’ve piloted a boat around a lake during a rowdy, redneck celebration, and we’ve gone down Russian River in a canoe and capsized–destroying both our phones–in what turned out to be a great object lesson in working (and learning to paddle) together. We optimistically took surf lessons at Santa Cruz’s famous Pleasure Point, never got fully up on our boards, and were sore for a week afterwards from paddling. But we were sore…together.
The Pleasure Point waves defeated us. Endless summer? More like endless paddling.
Whatever we do to propel ourselves next, I hope we continue this tradition for years to come. Got any suggestions for future adventures? Let us know.
