“Lady, you can go.”
I heard the words as I gingerly pushed myself down the slide. I thought I heard a rusty hinge creaking. I hoped it wasn't the slide. I bent forward slightly. I quickly corrected myself by sitting up like a straight-back chair.
Creak. Creak. Creeeak.
Good, it's just my waist, I thought.
I approached the first curve. I realized astutely that I had no control in the curves at all. I thought about swearing, and then, luckily, thought again. I knew the s-h word would echo and reverberate throughout the slide. My children, especially four-year-old Colleen, would probably be traumatized for life.
I was going too fast.
Maybe if I put my legs up along the sides more, I'd slow down.
I did seem to slow down a fraction of a second but I knew I had to concentrate the entire length of the slide. The man had told me not to put my hands on the sides. I tried to keep them on my thighs although I needed them for balance.
The bottom of my paper suit seemed to be filling with water but I didn't dare try to get it out. I pictured myself careening to the top of a curve, hanging suspended for a split second, and landing on my side. Or worse, I could flip over and land on my face with water rushing up my nose.
Don't worry about the water, I told myself as my buttocks swung from side to side.
I weighed more with each passing second.
Paul said he would be waiting at the end for me. I hoped he planned to catch me and keep me from going underwater. I went around the S shaped curve and saw the opening that signaled the end of the slide. I wanted to land without so much as a ripple, like Anne and Colleen had. I saw Paul standing in the water. That was my last conscious thought before my body flew through the air. I hit the surface, water-filled buttocks first, with a large splatter as my face and every other part of me went completely under. I was still trying to stand when Paul grabbed my arm and pulled me up.
“Are you okay?” he said. There was a mixture of laughter and clapping around the pool.
“I'm okay. I can't believe how fast it is. I felt like a rocket on that last curve.” I stated this fact loudly so everyone could hear.
“Mom, are you going again?” little Colleen asked.
There are some experiences in life that truly are “Once is not enough.” How could I say no to a four-year-old when she was almost jumping up and down?
“I think I'll go again,” I said. I went back to the steps and had one of my daughters shield me while I let out the 10 pounds of water collected at the bottom of my suit. First the one side, then the other. I felt lighter already.
We climbed the stairs quickly, it seemed, and soon I was at the top awaiting my turn.
When the pool man saw me, he was too polite to let out a groan. I didn't ask how to slow down because I already had that information. And when he said, “Go,” I went. The third time I actually landed feet first, toes touching the bottom of the pool.
There was more applause from the bystanders. I took a creaky bow.
After my tenth slide down, I decided to quit. The paper suit was miraculously intact.
Paul told me all the people around the pool agreed that they had never seen a person go down a waterslide so slowly!
The girls continued gliding down the slide until ten o'clock when it closed. Colleen went alone by the end of the evening with Anne waiting at the end to catch her. As before, not a drop of water touched Colleen's hair.
We went back to our room to dry off and put on our pajamas.
They laughed about me going down the waterslide saying that my mouth was a perfect O when I splatted into the water. I don't know why I thought Paul could catch me; I wasn't a featherweight like my youngest daughter. I probably would have knocked him backwards as I touched down feet first into his chest.
“I can't wait to go down a waterslide again,” I said.
“I hope the picture turns out, Dad,” Clare said. Everyone looked at Paul.
“Picture, what picture?” I asked.
“The picture Dad took when you came out of the slide,” Anne said. “I can't wait to see it.”
“No wonder I went completely under,” I said. “I didn't know you were taking my picture.” How many more surprises were in store for me?
“I had to. It was the funniest thing I've ever seen,” Paul said. He looked a little sheepish.
How quickly they turn on you.
All eyes were on me. Erin and Colleen were almost beside themselves trying not to laugh. I realized that I could give my girls a lesson in good sportsmanship. Posterity would see me, their ancestor, soaring through the air, arms and legs splayed, in a paper suit, my mouth forming a perfect O. It was pretty funny.
I started laughing. “Was my mouth really a perfect O?”
“It was perfect,” Paul said.
The six of us laughed. Secretly I hoped the picture wouldn't turn out.
Ten
Life in the Slow Lane
In the slow lane, it's the finish that counts.
I would have liked to go all the way around Lake Superior but we didn't have enough time. And I liked the Canadians; they were friendly and helpful. One of the Canadians I had talked to said if we got the chance we should go to Kakabeka Falls.
It was a little bit out of our way, but we drove to the wide, rocky waterfall on our way back to Minnesota the next morning. We heard the turbulent water long before it came into our sight.
“This is impressive,” I said.
“Yes, it is,” Paul said.
A bridge spanned the Falls. We stood on it and gazed miles into the distance. Far ahead we could see the river zigzagging through the thick forest.
“Do you like it, Erin?” I asked.
“Mm, hmm.”
“I do too. It's beautiful. I love it.”
“Why don't you marry it then?” Clare said, laughing.
As long as my body wasn't in the water, I loved it. I stored it in my memory with all the other streams and lakes and waterfalls.
We stopped in Grand Marais as much to buy fudge and donuts as to stretch our limbs. Paul thought the fudge from Beth's Fudge was the best in the world. Our children agreed with him. I wasn't one to ask since I've never liked chocolate but the best donuts were across the street. That we all agreed on.
Grand Marais was a wonderful town to walk around in, with a variety of shops from Antique Shops to Scandinavian Shops to General Stores. Also, there were many types of restaurants that catered to families.
We browsed the shops and walked down by the marina. The bright reds, greens and yellows of the sails on the sailboats were a contrast to the sky and water. We watched an artist as he tried to copy the changing scene onto his canvas. The setting and the painting were so lovely. I wished, not for the first time, that I could paint more than stick figures.
With several pounds of fudge tucked under Paul's arm, we drove back to Lutsen.
We relaxed the rest of the day and discussed what we should do in the morning. Number one on the list was the alpine slides at Lutsen Mountains.
We were in no hurry the next morning. We let the girls sleep, had a leisurely breakfast, and piled into the van about ten o'clock.
None of us had been on an alpine slide.
They gave us what they called toboggans to carry and we headed for the chair lift. The sleds were heavy for the girls so Paul carried two. One was for Colleen and him, and the other was for Erin.
At the top we waited for each other so we could figure out who was going first. We walked to the beginning of the slides where there were two lanes, a fast one and a slow one.
“C'mon, Oh. You should go in front of me,” I said to Erin as I proceeded to the slow lane. Erin had never had a nickname until Colleen started talking. Erin was too difficult for her to pronounce. It came out sounding more like Owen. We had shortened it to Oh.
“I'm following Dad,” Erin said. She would be eight years old in October. She had conquered many of the fears she had when she was
younger. Even though she still carried her blanket with her, I didn't have a timid little “shadow” anymore. And one thing she had always loved was speed; the faster, the better.
“I am too,” Clare said.
“Me too,” Anne said.
In my younger days, I was really quite adventuresome. It was hard convincing my girls of that when I moved over into the slow lane. I pictured myself scraping arms and legs along the cement track. Or having the metal runners on the bottom of the sled slice into my exposed flesh. I parted company with the rest of my family.
“Do you think Colleen should go down the fast lane?” I asked no one in particular.
There was no answer.
“Push your glasses up, Coll.” I resisted telling her to be careful.
Colleen gave her glasses an upward nudge as she moved over to the fast lane.
Their line was moving along faster than the one I was in. Paul, with Colleen on his lap, went first. Soon they were out of my sight. The other three girls followed in rapid succession.
There were still several people in front of me. I was encouraged that none of them seemed to be taking off like they were shot from a cannon. I watched each and every takeoff until it was my turn.
The boy gave the signal for me to go.
I sat up straight, pushing with my feet, and inched the lever forward to release the brake. I crept along. An incline appeared toward the first turn. Wanting to test my brakes, I pulled back on the lever. They worked well. I could stop completely if I wanted to. I meandered into the first turn. The rear of the sled was swinging back and forth making it hard to keep control. I concluded that I would have better command of the sled if I went a bit faster. I pressed the lever forward again and accelerated. I was fine on the straight section. I approached the second turn. I had to lean into it as I found myself going high onto the curved sides. It was exhilarating.
I didn't want to get reckless and have the sled full throttle the whole run, but neither did I want ten people behind me as I snailed to the end.
I found a medium speed that was perfect for me. I turned a corner and there was a hill with a large sign reading, “DO NOT USE BRAKES ON HILL.” The hill went straight down. I hadn't had the chance to slow down before approaching it. I hit the almost vertical hill at a high speed. For a fragment of a second I was airborne. The sled was wobbling all over the track.
Oh, my God, I could've flown off the sled and scraped along the cement on my face, I thought.
In that moment of terror I decided that my body was a delicate entity that could be hurt or easily broken, maybe permanently.
I pulled back on the lever.
I had to pay close attention to every curve until I got to the second hill. DO NOT USE BRAKES ON HILL. I glanced at the sign for a split-second. I paced myself before advancing to the top of the hill. I braked for a second, and then urged the lever forward. The second hill was a piece of cake. One more curve appeared before the finish. As I came out of the final curve, I thrust the lever as far forward as it would go. I wanted my family to think I had been going all out.
The five of them waited for me, holding onto their sleds. They were expecting something that resembled a tortoise worming up to the finish with people lined up behind me, cursing.
I heard one of them say, “Slow down, Mom,” as I screeched to a halt for a grand finale.
They looked at each other.
“Did you like it?” Erin asked.
“It was fun.”
“Really?” Clare asked.
“Really.”
“I can't believe you liked it,” Clare said.
“Why? You think I'm a wimp?” I didn't get an answer. I smiled to myself.
“You didn't go that slowly,” Paul said.
“I know.”
“Want to go again?”
“Sure.”
Colleen sat on the chair lift with me to tell me about her exciting ride.
“Were you scared on the hills?” I asked.
“A little.”
“Me too.”
We went our respective ways, the five to the fast lane on the left while I veered to the right.
“Mom, don't you want to go in the fast lane?”
“No, that's okay.” If I could repeat the finish again, I'd be all set.
We had our three rides down and then walked over to the Gondola Rides. While water and speed gave me pause, heights didn't bother me in the least. We went up into the Lutsen Mountains via the gondola. The entire valley was visible with Lake Superior in the distance.
Lutsen was a popular place for snow skiing during the lengthy Minnesota winters. We could see the cleared areas where people skied. There were also long runs over bridges that spanned swiftly moving streams. Even with the many ski runs, the dense evergreen and birch forests covered the mountains.
These weren't mountains like we had seen out West, but, nonetheless, they were beautiful.
We got off at the peak, where a building had food and beverages for sale. We looked through the magnifying telescopes and strolled around the park at the top of the mountain. After a half hour, we were ready to take the gondola back.
Another place that interested us was the Superior Hiking Trail. Although nowhere near as long, it had been patterned after the famous Appalachian Trail. The trail started in Two Harbors, a town about 20 miles north of Duluth. It continued snaking north all the way to Canada, more than 240 miles. Within the Superior Hiking Trail were seven state parks, two national forests, and two state forests. It was a true wilderness filled with moose, deer, bears, and wolves; wildflowers and berries; eagles, hawks, and many other birds; clear inland lakes, waterfalls, tumbling rivers, and streams.
The trails themselves were sometimes no wider than a footpath and the hiking went from easy to treacherous. Some of them went into the higher elevations until the hiker was more than 1,500 feet above Lake Superior. Many of the trails were alongside the streams and waterfalls I loved so much.
Since I've always been consistent, I much preferred the easier hikes. Moderate difficulty was also okay. I'd leave the difficult to treacherous hikes to the hiking clubs. Why work up a sweat and make my muscles sore over a hike?
We had a light lunch and settled on the Temperance River Gorge.
We weren't disappointed. The Temperance River roared as it gushed through the gorge. The rocks within the whole area were over a billion years old. We hiked above the gorge to explore further. The actual trail followed the churning river. There were whirlpools of water, overlooks, and people swimming in some of the quieter sections of the river.
“Isn't this wonderful?” I said.
“It's cool,” Anne said.
“Yeah, really cool,” Clare said.
The girls were tired after about a mile. We turned around because we had to walk the same distance back. We took turns carrying Colleen.
We drove to the hotel.
My book awaited me. I sat by The Lake reading with Paul while our children skipped rocks.
Life didn't get any better than this.
In the van the next morning, we talked about where we would stop on the way home. Paul and I were interested in a place called the Palisade Head.
We turned off the highway at the entrance to the Palisades, a well-known spot for people to stop and take pictures. The road off the main highway was narrow and like a steep corkscrew. It was kind of scary. When we got to the top, the van leveled off and we could park. The six of us got out to see if we wanted to take a picture.
I was incredulous.
We stood on the top of an enormous cliff of sheer rock. The cliff went around the shoreline in the shape of a horseshoe. Far below, the waves broke softly against the sand.
The camera came out and we clicked one picture after another.
“Don't get too close to the edge,” I said to the girls. I kept a respectable distance from the brink. All the tightrope and ballet moves I had learned on our trip weren't going to help me if I tumbled over the e
dge, smashing my head, arms, legs, and torso on the cliff face and rocks below. I'd probably drown in addition to breaking every bone in my body. I noticed my husband pulling the girls back.
“Be careful,” he said as he held Colleen's hand.
I walked over to the two of them.
“This is making me nervous,” Paul said quietly.
“Me too. Let's go.”
We called the other girls and got back in the van.
“Did you guys like it?” I asked.
“Yeah,” the four replied in unison.
“I think it's wonderful to look at. Standing on the edge was . . .” I couldn't finish the sentence. I shivered.
“Mom, I thought you liked heights,” Clare said.
“Not anymore.”
It was sad but the older I got, the more cautious I became. By the time I was 50, I'd be scared of just about everything. If there had only been railings, it wouldn't have bothered me. Or a parachute strapped to my back.
Or Cary Grant waiting to catch me if I slipped.
We arrived in Duluth in time for lunch at Grandma's Restaurant. It was located where the gigantic ore ships came into the harbor. A gong sounded as the middle of the lift bridge ascended to allow the ships to pass. All eyes in the restaurant stared out the windows when the gong sounded. It happened twice during our lunch. We watched, with everyone else, as the lift bridge rose and the ore boats cruised by us.
“They're huge,” Anne exclaimed.
“Enormous,” Clare said.
“Probably bigger than a whale,” Erin said.
“Or an effelent,” Colleen said, stumbling over the word.
We talked about the Maritime museum across the street from the restaurant. Our children had visited the museum before so we didn't walk over. One of the things that intrigued me was the ice cutting boats they used every spring. For the people of Duluth, the harbor ice was a reality for six months of the year. When it started to break up, they had to send the ice cutting boats through before the ore ships could make it.
We talked about the harshness of the winter and what people did in the past without heat, running water, electricity, bathrooms, refrigerators, washing machines, warm Thinsulate clothing, and supermarkets.
Warning!: Family Vacations May Be Hazardous to Your Health Page 7
