You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
Riding a gondola to the top of the mountain only to crash and burn.
Uber Gatlinburg is a mountain top tourist stop in the Smoky Mountains.
There’s a rustic bar and restaurant. There’s a water slide, a maze and an ice rink. There are little shops and fudge vendors and there’s a concrete luge track that calls to the Indy Race driver in all of us.
The Gondola ride going up the mountain is delightful. Though it is blistering hot, the windows are open and there is a refreshing mountain breeze blowing into the cable car.
As we wizz over the fifth gigantic tower anchored to the Earth, we take in the scenic wonderland of tall pines and A-framed houses resting majestically on the side of the steep incline.
Everyone knows a tram ride is tiring so the first thing we do is eat.
After lunch, the kids start right up.
“What are we going to do now? I am bored. What else is there?”
I gaze through the gigantic windows at the amusement park outside.
“You guys want to luge?”
How often do you get to say that.
Uber-Mountain has a luge track that is several hundred yards long. It winds down the side of the mountain like a concrete rattle snake.
A flat go-cart sits an inch off the track. There is no steering wheel, just a brake that slows the car down. Let go of the brake and gravity is your accelerator.
To get to the track, you take a T-Bar ski lift that is relaxing as it silently carries you another several hundred yards higher up the side of the mountain.
After dismounting and moving to the luge area, I grab a go cart, that weighs about forty pounds.
I lay it in the starting grid behind other riders and proceed to listen to the official who begins to tell us how to negotiate the track.
“Slow down in the turns,” she said. “Don’t lose control of your luge. The only person responsible for your luge racer is you,” she says pausing for effect.
Then she gets my attention. “If you touch the track you will be burned. Keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times. Don’t go too fast. You will flip!”
That’s when I see the contradiction of terms. A young man, in his mid 20’s, that I can only describe as a Guido. He has a cropped hairdo with a hint of product pushing is military haircut skyward.
He is wearing a red muscle shirt that looks like it is made from Under Armor, tight and wrapped around his biceps. I watch as he throws his sled on the track.
While we sit in our carts in the starting grid, he stands beside his cart, as if he is on a different frequency, like he’s cooler than us.
I look at this recalcitrent Guido and wonder, what is this guy thinking.
Again the gate keeper of the track reminds us, “don’t drive too fast. You will be burned.”
Riders ready? Go!
And like that the Guido is off. He jets down the track like Luke Skywalker racing through the valley of the death star.
I test my brake to see how the cart handles in the turns. It slows rapidly and makes the turn easily. In the straight a way, I let go of the brake and the steep incline and smooth concrete surface allow the flat cart to rapidly accelerate, perhaps as fast as 40 mph.
I take a corner and I see a track official coming out of his shed mid way down the run.
He is animated, staring down the track and talking into his walkie talkie.
As I go by all I hear is the man say; “He was flying down the track, he’s gonna roll it.”
I turn the corner. That’s when I see the guy going high on the banked turn.
The officials words are seared into my brain: “You and only you control the cart.”
I watch as he gets lateral in the turn and swoops into the straight-a-way. He is going way too fast.
I turn the next corner just in time to see the guy blowing up. He flips precariously on the top of the turn, the cart coming up like a super charged hydroplane leaving the water’s surface.
By the time I get to the Guido, he is standing, no emotion on his face. I know he’s hurt, but he is acting like the Guido he is. His shoulder is ripped and his arm is bleeding. His pants are tattered and darkened with mud.
I can tell he wants to cry like a school girl.
We hand our cart back to the operator at the bottom of the run. I hear him telling Guido that he needs to fill out the accident report for insurance purposes.
Guido seems perplexed. I silently laugh as I walk away.
Later in the day, we will see Guido near the ice rink. He has just exited the rest room. He has dabbed water on his bruised face. He is now wearing a full arm bandage and his shirt seems to be ripped in several places.
Lesson learned.
“You and only you are in control of your cart. YOU WILL GET BURNED.”
Words to live by.
Now that’s crazy.