Volcano Sledding

The new sport “Volcano Boarding” may not deserve “one of the most dangerous sports available” title it has acquired, but the fact that you don’t have to sign a waiver does make it slightly scary. The pre-sledding experience consists of hiking up the side of a young volcano, while carrying a “toboggan” (plywood and a rope chord) all while wearing an orange jumpsuit that makes everyone look like escaped convicts. At the top, the group received “survival training” consisting of a sentence repeated thrice: “If you’re going to bail, drop the chord and cover your face.”. It all seemed like a joke, being told something like we were children- especially for something as simple as sledding.
Opting to go first, my feet approached the edge with the “toboggan”, a scarf and overly scratched goggles to cover my fleshy bits, trying to clear the visions of the ticker-tape parade that will, surely, be held back home for the “Hero of the Volcano”. The fantasies of friends carrying me on their shoulders, the newspaper headlines of “Girl Survives Volcano Sledding!” and a king’s feast complete the picture. My brain is ready and has determined that this is going to be the single greatest moment of my life.
Letting go of the ground and my last held breath, my feet are in front of me- the ground starts to wiz by. My left foot goes down, ash-gravel spewing everywhere, the goggles, sunset (and hope of ticker-tape) cloud my vision and pulling on the chord seems to be doing nothing. “Volcano Girl losing control!” an announcer voice booms in my head. Core tight, leaning forward, pulling the chord—none of it matters. The battle is lost; my body tumbles off the board and down the mountain.
“DROP THE CHORD, COVER YOUR FACE!” booms the announcer’s voice. A few scratches to my pride and arm were all that was affected. I grabbed the board, and walked the rest of the way down as the rush was replaced with embarrassment. The parade fades as the California boys rush past going 80Km/h. The sun sets, the last victims sled down, we pack up the truck and head back for some celebratory mojitos. After the second drink a brilliant thought occurs: No one saw my bail!
The next morning the volcano erupted. No longer feeling like a wuss the heroic parade vision popped back into my head, newspapers with the headline: “Local Girl Dodges Death!” fly off the shelves, Sousa marches are played, classic Chryslers wheel around and my hair is littered with blue and green ticker tape. Hero status: restored!