Orbitz left: 2 ½ packs
Sunburn level: Scratch and Peel
Encounters with death in the last 22 hours: 2
Survival rate: 100%
My past would have me believe that truly thrilling experiences should be found in contained locations. Go on a roller coaster to experience a rush of adrenaline. Mind you, be sure to buckle in tight, google the reputation of the theme park, and make sure that the person in front of you didn’t chuck his or her cotton candy just before getting on the ride. Then ride for 3 minutes and feel like you’re stretching yourself to the limit.
Today I was introduced to an adrenaline rush that wasn’t held in place by metal bars and millions of dollars of advertisement.
There’s something about uncontrollable running that makes me nervous. There’s something about uncontrollable running down an undefined mountain path that makes me nervous. There’s something about uncontrollable running down said path holding someone’s hand that makes me nervous.
Just nervous enough to try it.
We reached Mariposa’s summit after about an hour and a half of mostly uphill hiking. There’s something to understand about mountains here. They’re not made out of rock. Most steps result in a puff of what we hope is dirt, dirt that if swallowed, doesn’t taste like dirt. There are no trees, and vegetation is nonexistent, excepting the two small cacti we discovered on Mariposa’s top.
That being said, the steeper the climb up, the faster the going down. Hence, the exhilaration. There comes a point when you pick up so much speed that you simply cannot stop. All you can do is hope that the ground you pound on doesn’t give out. It’s kind of like a free for all, and you don’t know if you’re going to make it. The wind smacks against your face, the horizon disappears in the dust of the people that you’re following, and you never know when the path you’ve chosen to run down is just going to drop. That’s why Mark went first. Kidding, of course. The first people have the pleasure of seeing the latter people run down the hill, a price which seems to be worth the risk.
We did have one wipe out, which kind of ruined the fun, but God’s hand definitely protected us from a “Princess Bride”-as-you-wish scene. For one, there was no Wesley, no skirt, and nobody who said “as you wish,” but as all falls are, Amber’s wasn’t at the best location. Daniel and Mark initially thought that they might have had to slide down after her, and Heather and I, temporarily oblivious to what happened, were quite glad that nothing of the sort happened.
The wounded was the one who name the second mountain we conquered. (La Primera was the first. Original, eh?) Mariposa. Butterfly. And odd name for a mountain in Peru, especially since I hadn’t seen a butterfly here until our walk home today – after Amber named the mountain. Daniel pointed out a crushed butterfly that was being plastered to one of the paved streets by the blistering sun. Morbid, I know. A few steps farther down the road, though, we were entertained by two sunshine yellow butterflies that playfully flitted through the air.
Mariposa.
I’ve never noticed butterflies in amusement parks.
