The following is an excerpt from my upcoming book, Ups and Downs, a travelogue in the vein of Bill Bryson, chronicling the the experiences I and my father had during a two month trek through the Alps.
There were a couple of times I had to retreat and grab hold of Angela to pull her forward past a rock that jutted out inconveniently into the path. She grew progressively more hysterical. Snot would come halfway down her nose before she’d snort it back, tears streaming down her face. A couple of times she had to stop and consciously slow her breathing to keep from hyperventilating.
When we neared the top of the pass, I went ahead, as I often do in the approach to a landmark, to get a sneak preview and to scope it out. Expecting to be greeted with breathtaking views and a few smiling, satisfied people, I was instead blasted with 30 mph winds and a ridge that was roughly the width of two people. During the climb I had noticed the clouds climbing up over the pass, and I had been looking forward to watching them head toward and over me, but instead I was too afraid to look up for fear of getting blown off the ridge and plummeting backwards to my doom over the cliff I’d just climbed.