My author bio ends with:

Guess which it was this year?

I’ll give you a hint. The trip was to celebrate my youngest son’s college graduation last year. (Thanks Covid…)

So of course, period costume was the theme, right?

Yeah…no. Don’t get me wrong, he has donned period garb with me, and he’s danced English country dance with me, but this trip was helmets and waivers all the way.

(As an aside, I’ve got to tell you, I have no idea how it came to this. Really. I’m a mild-mannered cat lady/writer who spends a great deal of her time making stuff up, cooking to feed anyone who wants to eat, and cuddling with grandkids and cats. Really…)

Our first planned activity was a ropes course. What is that you might ask. I certainly did when son sent over the suggestion.  In short, it is the opportunity to scamper through a series of rope and ladder obstacles strung three stories in the air like a bunch of squirrels, or monkeys, or squirrel monkeys—after signing waivers of course.

To be entirely honest, when I got my first look at what my son had talked us into, my good sense kicked in screaming, “What are you thinking woman? Two feet firmly on the ground. Two feet! Remember that!”

Great advice. The kind that one should listen to. The operative word being should.

But then Writer Brain kicked in.

Writer Brain

Writer Brain?

In short, a special form of insanity that writer-types can usually keep in check. Until they can’t

Generally, under the influence of Writer Brain, we snark about grammar and punctuation and then shut up. We might appreciate a good turn of phrase or an especially apt analogy and that’s that.

But Dr. Jekyll was a fine upstanding sort until Mr. Hyde came along and changed everything. Alas, there is a Mr. Hyde side to Writer Brain.

That’s the one whose primal scream of “This is RESEARCH! Let’s go!” Can be heard clearly in the next county. It’s responsible for a lot of things I’d never have attempted in my right mind.  Things like zip-lining through an underground cavern. Like rock climbing or rappelling down the side of a waterfall. Or climbing up three stories to cross a rope bridge when I really didn’t care about getting to the other side.

Some how that all makes sense in Writer Brain. So, I forged ahead.

I now know what it feels like to be Indiana Jones (sort of anyhow) walking out on that invisible ridge or swinging on a rope over dangerous obstacles. That moment when your heart drops to your feet, taking as much of your blood with it as possible trying to be that much nearer the safe ground. I can now describe that first hand.

What is it like?

That moment when your feet grow roots and completely refuse to cooperate screaming “That…that thing is not going to hold you…don’t you see woman, it’s already shaking and shimmying and is too high up—do you see how high? You are not going to do that!”

“Oh yes, you are feet. Now move,” muttered staring at sneakers stubbornly glued to the landing platform.

“No, we are not.” Inching backward a smidge so as not to fall off the back of the planform.

“Yes, you are.” Who knew sneakers weighted fifty pounds each?

“But we’re panicking, don’t you care?” Knees threatening to mutiny with the feet now.

This could get embarrassing. I really don’t want to require rescue by the local fire department. Ugh. Maybe I can reason with my feet, just a little. “Of course, I care that you’re panicking. I’ve even scheduled a good solid panic for 2:45 this afternoon, so no worries. We’ll get to panic, I promise. So, just do your thing now and we’ll have a good breakdown after.”

Don’t’ ask me why, but that somehow made sense to the feet. Apparently, they are much better at running than at reasoning—which is probably a good thing all told.

The first step was pure terror as everything shook and swayed and did all things solid ground doesn’t. The second step wasn’t much better. But the ropes held and I hadn’t hit the ground. That had to be a good thing. One more step. Then another.

The other side was in sight! A few more steps … I made it! Safe on the landing platform.

With twelve more obstacles to cross.

Somehow though, each one looked a little easier. Until I got to the rolling pipe. I confess, that one bested me. Swaying ropes and ladders were one thing, but that tricksey thing rolling under my feet–I never did manage that one.

But all the rest? I did it!

Was it fun? After a fashion.

Would I do it again? Probably, if one of my kids wants me to. (They are to blame for most of my interesting adventures!)

Is it my next favorite hobby? Don’t think so.

But that was only the beginning –the helmets hadn’t been broken out yet. Stay tuned for the dragon sittings!