Last week, my daughter and I had the opportunity to cheat death, with nary a lawyer in sight. Had we been in the U.S., we would have been subjected to endless lectures about safety, and forced to acknowledge our personal liability by signing in blood a 10-page release. After the inevitable accident, the experience would become totally diluted or be forced to shut down.
I’m talking about ziplines. For those of you without the fond childhood memories I bring to this, a zipline is a cable strung up between two poles on a slope of some kind. The intrepid zipliner grabs onto a couple of handles welded onto a pulley and slides down. Braking usually consists of falling off before you hit the pole, or dragging one’s heels on the ground if you’re big enough.
Ziplines in Mexico are the stuff of boyhood fantasy. Cable runs 2000′ feet long over canyons. Drops that start 200′ over rocky terrain. Gabz and I had a blast. We did all 10 runs in about 2 hours, and would have done them all again if we hadn’t started to fee guilty about the rest of the family.
Heartily recommended – www.canopycostaazul.com
