I am on a single span chairlift. Probably about 50 metres up from the ground. It reminds me of the time in Tasmania a few years ago when we took a chairlift ride across Cataract Gorge in Launceston. Heights have never been my thing, especially as I’ve got older.
Normally the first thing I do is put the bar across my waist so I don’t fall off, but I am unbarred. Someone behind me calls out to secure myself but as soon as I do the chair lift starts lowering, slow at first, then faster, it’s going down, and I’m heading for a collision course with Mother Earth!
Underneath me I’m just about to hit rock bottom. Then suddenly, just as I take the bar off, the chair lifts again, at full flight. Suddenly I’m back in the air again, high up in the sky.
My chair lift is travelling now at what seems to be 100km per hour! I’m speeding towards the turnstile where I’m supposed to get off, faster and faster. But I can’t slow it down. The staff at the other end all manually yank on the chains. Somehow, miraculously the lift stops and I get off.
You’ve probably guessed by now I was dreaming. But it was so vivid, it felt so real. Even now, two days later, I feel like I was actually on that chairlift.
Wow, I know my life’s been a bit up and down lately but this is ridiculous.