“What if it doesn’t?”
“Didn’t you see the movie? That old lady, Annie, she did it. In a barrel.”
“Dude, they said sixteen people have tried it, and nine survived.”
“That’s better than half.”
Adam held out his hands. “But the others got killed. The guy on the Jet Ski with the parachute, he didn’t even make it.”
“I don’t want you to ride over the falls with me. I just want you to help me. With logistics and stuff.”
“I know. But it’s like aiding and abetting.”
“You won’t go to jail.”
“Dude, I’m worried about my conscience. Helping you get killed. And no, you don’t know I won’t go to jail. Trespassing on a state park—there must be some law against riding over the falls. Shoot, if the whole thing blows up in our faces, they’ll probably get me for littering.”
“I need you for this, bud. Can’t do it myself.”
Adam muttered to himself, then said, “Well okay. I suppose you’re going to do it with or without me. At least I can be the last one to say goodbye.”
He slapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit.”
The next day the two got to work on the ‘Ball Over the Falls.’ Tanner had done his homework. YouTube displayed a number of videos of men inside balls, rolling down lawns in parks and streets. Some consequences were not too good, but he’d be in water, a softer surface.
They got the materials together, some rubber butyl material, Velcro, duct tape, glue, and a heat gun. After quite a few failures—while Tanner informed Adam that Edison endured thousands of failures—they assembled the ball.
“Looks like a yellow egg.” Adam rolled it across the grass and it oscillated rather than rolled.
“Doesn’t matter,” Tanner said, “it’ll float just fine. No need to be symmetric.”
“You think it won’t leak?” He pulled the Velcro door open and the thing deflated to a flat yellow egg yolk in a matter of seconds.
“It will, some. But I did some figuring, and it only needs to hold air for a few minutes. We launch at Sisters Island and two minutes later, I’m at the bottom of the falls, bobbing along. The Maid of the Mist will pick me up. They’re always running. One of them will spot me. Come on. I’ll get in and you pump it up.”
Tanner crawled inside and Adam flattened the Velcro sides together. He started a gas powered compressor and attached the hose to a port on the ball. It inflated and grew.
“It stinks in here.” His voice sounded like he was in a big plastic ball or something.
“Can you breathe?”
“Yeah, it’s just the rubber and the compressed air. I’m good.”
Adam pulled off the hose and plugged the port. “Now roll it around.”
The yellow ball wiggled, then rolled in a staggering fashion over the grass. It seemed to hold air okay. Adam watched as Tanner maneuvered the sphere along the grass, then crested to a hill.
“You’re going to go down the hill.”
His muffled voice replied, “I know. Cool, huh?”
The orb rolled awkwardly, then crested the slope. It gained speed and Adam could hear an “Aww” as the ball rolled faster, a giant Easter egg on a collision course with a tree. It smacked the tree with a whump and deflated. “Oh, great.”
Adam ran downhill to the wreckage. “Dude, you okay?”
Tanner moaned. “My ribs.”
~
“Okay, I don’t think this is going to work.” Adam pedaled through Niagara Falls Park, a child trailer behind the bike. Tanner rode a similar get-up. “Two guys riding with their kids?”
“Doesn’t matter. We just ride over the bridge, unload, set up and I’m on my way.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple.”
They arrived at the parking area and rode through it to the trail, then walked the bikes down the trail. Fifty feet before the river they stopped and carried the gear—the sphere, a life jacket, the compressor, and a roll of duct tape—to the shore, stepping over exposed roots. Adam insisted Tanner wear the life jacket or he wouldn’t help. They plugged the hose in and fired up the compressor. A few tourists approached.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Adam said, “Nothing,” and Tanner said, “Riding this ball over the falls,” at the same time and they kept working. Tanner climbed inside and Adam flattened the Velcro, then duct-taped the seams.
“Hey, look at this. They’re going over the falls in that.” People assembled and snapped pictures. Two people videoed them. The egg grew. People commented, “Cool.” “You think it’ll work?” “That’s crazy.”
When the globe got full sized, Adam closed off the port and tossed the hose back. “Okay, dude, roll it.” The yellow glob rolled into the water, but stuck on the bottom, the water too shallow to float it. “Keep going, dude.” The blob rolled farther, then bobbed and floated downstream for a bit, then got held up on a rock. “Go right, dude,” Adam yelled. The thing rocked and wiggled to the left. “Other way.” It continued struggling in the same direction. Adam realized Tanner couldn’t hear him. He waded downstream and rolled the ball toward the center of the river. It floated and shot downstream, then ran smack into a tree branch hanging over the edge, popped and deflated. Adam splashed to shore and trotted down a trail. He waded out again to the flaccid yellow glob.
“Dude, you okay?”
“Oh, my ribs.”
Two park policemen met them at the edge of the river.
~
Two homeless guys walked over the bridge with a shopping cart. “Dude, this is ridiculous. No one’s going to fall for this,” Adam blew hair out of his mouth. “And this beard tickles.”
“The park police are looking for two kids, not a couple of bums. We only need a few minutes.” The front wheel wobbled and rocked. They rattled through the parking lot and carried the shopping cart down the trail. A few feet from shore, they assembled the new improved sphere. Tanner bought it on eBay, made of clear plastic and heavier. He had painted ‘Ball Over the Falls’ on the surface. He climbed inside—a slit this time, instead of a door—and Adam taped him in and hooked up the hose. The compressor puffed air into the device and it grew and took shape. Tourists gathered again, but Adam paid no attention.
Adam yelled, “Okay,” and the blob rolled into the river. This time Adam accompanied it out, pushing and directing it. The force of the water knocked him down and he scrambled to his feet, looking downstream. “You’re on your own, Dude. That’s as far as I’m going,” he screamed.
“Thanks,” the muffled voice replied. The sphere bobbed and wiggled as Tanner tried to stand or maneuver the sphere into better water, with dismal results. Suddenly the ball caught the flow and shot downstream. It bounced over small waterfalls, pin-balled off rocks and rolled through the white water.
“It’s going to work,” Adam said from shore.
The orb flew down stream, gaining speed as the haze from the fall increased. It hit a root wad that punched a hole in it and caught it, holding it fast. The thing deflated in seconds and hung off the root like a parachute. With a wriggling mass inside it.
Adam couldn’t see it through the mist and assuming the trip a success, loaded everything into the shopping cart and trundled off the island. He followed the river downstream and saw a gaggle of people pointing and speaking animatedly.
“Oh no.”
The plastic contraption hung off the tree root.
The Park Service rescued Tanner.
~
“Okay, three things we learned that time.” Tanner tapped on the keyboard of his laptop.
“Like, let’s not do this again?”
“Very funny. First, I need to control it somehow. We need arms on it so I can paddle or push off of things. Second, leg things might help me push it, too.”
“Like push away from the Park Service when they grab you to arrest you. Again.”
“It was one night in jail. No big deal. Okay. And
third, I need a little compressor inside the ball in case we get a leak. Oh, and fourth, a roll of duct tape and piece of plastic inside, with me, to mend it should it tear.”
“That’s five, not three.”
“I think I found our answer online. Perfect. And we should be good to launch in two weeks, on Saturday morning.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“We got it this time.”
“You said that last time.”
“But not with this much conviction.”
~
Saturday morning two construction workers wearing hard hats and reflective vests crossed the bridge to Sisters Island. They pushed wheelbarrows covered with canvas tarps.
“I just know we’re going to be arrested.”
“Nonsense.”
“This is crazy, Tanner. This time they’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”
“After they pull me from the water at the bottom of the falls.”
They arrived and dodged tourists as they hauled the materials to the river’s edge. The water roared. People pointed and someone yelled Tanner’s name.
“They know you. You’re getting famous.”
“Just let’s get this thing going.”
They threw in the battery powered compressor, a roll of duct tape, a square of plastic and Tanner climbed inside.
Adam flapped the plastic away and looked at Tanner. “This is it, buddy. I got a feeling it’s going to work.” He reached out his hand. Tanner shook it. “May the force be with you.”
“Thanks, man.” Tanner climbed inside and Adam fastened the door. He hooked up a leaf blower and the capsule came to life in seconds, this time sporting a couple of blue arms and legs. Tanner waved, the arms looking like a sumo wrestler’s.
The thing looked like a headless clown, the kind with the sand bottom that always bobs upright. Adam helped roll it into the raging water. The clown-like sphere with blue appendages took off like a shot, cascading down a small waterfall.
“Police, you’re under arrest.” Two cops grabbed Adam and jerked his hands behind him, clipping on handcuffs.
“Crap.”
~
Tanner couldn’t see well. The water outside and condensation inside distorted the image, but he could tell he could work the ‘Ball Over the Falls’ into the center of the river. Water sprayed through a tear in the plastic. He grabbed the duct tape, but it wouldn’t stick to the wet surface. He felt the vehicle pick up speed, but the leak grew at the same pace. His weight and the compressor caused the blob to wallow deep in the water. The middle of the river moved faster, causing the orb to pick up speed. Oh yes, they were moving. Tanner fired up the compressor. Perhaps the increased air would slow the water intrusion down. The noise of the water increased to a roar.
Suddenly the ship stopped moving. No, it flew. They were going over the falls! The canyon walls shot past the window. Then slam, the ball smashed into the river below, throwing Tanner to the bottom and crashing into the compressor. Pain shot up his leg. The side gashed open and cold water shot into the space. The compressor dragged everything down, the rubber crushing in around him. He clawed for an opening but couldn’t see. Darkness engulfed him as they shot toward the bottom. He twisted and felt for an opening, then his fingers found the Velcro door. Ripping it apart, he swam for the surface, his lungs screaming.
Calm down. Easy to think, but hard to do. He swam up, the life jacket speeding his ascent. At last he hit air and sucked in a great mouthful of air and water. The mist and water enveloped him in a straight jacket of gray, making it difficult to differentiate between the water and air. Tanner kicked and screamed in pain, his leg shooting lightning strikes upward. He used only his right leg and let the left drift.
The mist was so thick he couldn’t tell which way to swim, but wouldn’t the river carry him downstream? What if he got caught in an eddy that took him back to the falls? He needed to get a far away from the falls as possible, and fast. Can’t die now. He swam lightly, trying to conserve energy, but the whitecaps swept over his head and he swallowed even more water. He coughed and tried to elevate his head more.
Must get out of here. He’d get weaker and end up dying at the base of the falls if he didn’t get out and away from the water chaos. He swam on and before too long the mist receded and he could see down the river. His spirits sank. No tour boat. He imagined it picking him up moments after going over the falls. Nothing to do but keep swimming. He tried swimming on his back with better results. His leg hurt less and the life jacket kept his head above water.
Twenty more minutes he swam and floated until he spotted the bright white angel from heaven, jammed with blue penguins of people wearing rain gear. The Maid of the Mist IX.
~
Tanner never did it for the fame; he just thought it would be cool to be one of the few people who made it over the falls. But on the afternoon of day two, after his surgery for a broken leg, the David Letterman Show called.
Pennsylvania
We rode past many an Amish buggy during our adventure, and occasionally I struck up conversations with Amish people, their culture so fascinating. Wonderful people, with deep roots and faith, though some of their rules seem contradictory. I noticed a Carrier generator outside the building of a farm, yet learned that a natural gas generation facility is not allowed. (The Bishop okayed the generator.) Some bishops approve of cell phones, others don’t. So I thought … what if someone were to use diesel powered machinery against his knowledge or will?
PAYBACK
Samuel Miller lives next door to me, fifteen miles out of Lancaster, and you couldn’t ask for a better neighbor. He stops by to talk at least once a week, and those conversations teach me to slow down. My wife, Lindsay, just shakes her head and smiles whenever Sarah brings a pie.
“Seems like they have a tough enough time with their simple Amish life,” she’d say, “and then Sarah does something like this.”
I could go on about the Amish lifestyle and how we profit from it, what with the low crime rate and clean countryside. The horse manure on the highways excepted, of course. It’s funny because I’ve spent many an hour fixing fences on three sides of my farm, but never on Sammy’s side. Yeah, I call him Sammy. Nobody else does, and I suppose I started it to get under his skin—teasing him a bit, but now it’s stuck. The north fence along his spread stands straight and true. And there isn’t a bit of weeds around it either. That guy keeps his place real good.
I always feel like I owe him and can’t repay. It drives me crazy. Probably the worst example was when the truck broke down. Fuel pump. I coasted to the side of the road and almost finished a conversation with Lindsay on the cell phone when Sammy clattered up on his buggy.
“Need a lift?”
“Well, thank you. Hey, hon, I got Sammy here and he’ll get me back.” I hung up the phone and hopped in Sammy’s gleaming black buggy. They can’t wear or do anything to draw attention to themselves, but their buggies are polished to a high sheen, the black paint mirror-like.
He clucked and flicked the reins. Thunderbolt started walking. Perfect name for a horse.
“Those trucks,” he peered ahead at the horse, “they complicate your life, you know?”
“Very funny. I can get to the John Deere dealer and back before old Thunderbolt here could get warmed up.”
“Except that I wouldn’t need to go to the John Deere dealer either.”
“Point taken.”
The Amish do lead an enviable life. I might convert if it wasn’t for the awful haircuts and poor dental hygiene. Lindsay wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those dresses either, and forget about the bonnet. But I wouldn’t trade neighbors for anything.
“Looks like you got a great crop this year.”
Sammy nodded as we rode past his place, the corn seven, eight feet high. You could smell it. “The weather has been perfect. God has blessed us.”
“Us, too. After that mess two years ago, I think He owes us.”
Samue
l frowned. “Careful how you speak.”
“Come on. I think God has a sense of humor. After all He made Ostriches.”
He smiled, his crooked teeth a distraction. Couldn’t they at least get orthodontics for their kids?
Sammy took me home and stopped at the side door to the house. Lindsay came out to say thanks.
“Would you like me to tow your truck back? I could unhitch Thunderbolt…”
“Very funny. You would love that. You’d take a picture of it with your camera and text it to your friends, right?”
He shrugged. “No cell phone. But I’d make sure many of my friends saw it.”
“No, I’ll get it.”
Lindsay patted his hand and said thanks.
I didn’t think much more about Sammy, as we harvested corn as fast as possible, my favorite time of year. The combines came into town like a locust—a good one, though, and mowed down the corn by the hundred acres. They got here late this year, and worked day and night to beat the freeze. The air smelled of diesel fuel and corn… perfume.
I stopped by the seed store to talk to Jerry about next year when he mentioned Sammy broke his ankle.
“How’d that happen?
“Some mix up with his horse and it stepped on him.”
“I’ll have to razz him about that,” I said, looking forward to teasing him about his simple lifestyle. “My truck has never injured me.”
“Lots of guys been run over by tractors.”
“Actually, you’re right,” I conceded. “I’ll stop by and see if he’s okay.” I left the store and promptly forgot about Sammy; shame on me. A few days later I drove by his place, and on impulse, turned in to see how he was mending up. Knocked on the door.
Sarah answered, and her face, which looked a bit haggard, broke into a smile. “Tristan, so nice of you to come by.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Sarah, he’s just come by to torture me,” Sammy said from the couch. He wrestled with a pair of crutches.
“Don’t get up, Sammy. I’ll sit by you and we’ll talk about those dangerous horses.” I sat and patted his knee. “Would have been much safer if you had a pickup.”
“As I recall, yours is in the shop.”
“True, but it hasn’t broken my leg.”
“Ankle.”
Sarah shook her head. “You two.”
“I just thought I’d stop by and see if you needed any help.” Lord knows he’s helped me enough times. Just then, it occurred to me we blew our opportunity to bring over a casserole. Have to talk to Lindsay about that.
50 Stories in 50 States: Tales Inspired by a Motorcycle Journey Across the USA Vol 1, Great Lakes & N.E. Page 2
