If the Gondola's a-Rockin' . . .

I went on a fun date Friday night.

*Long pause while Mom falls off of her chair, dusts herself off, and then sits back down to read.*

It started off with a short, hour-long hike near the Snowbasin ski resort and ended up with me nearly wetting my pants in public for the first time since I was seven years old.

Following said hike, my date, whom for privacy's sake I'll refer to as Pure Prairie Girl, saw a flier and noticed that we happened to be at the Snowbasin resort on the same night as a stargazing party, which was being held up at the Needles lodge overlooking the resort. On a whim, we decided to change our plans and join in on the fun.

To get to the Needles lodge, which stands at close to 10,000 feet above sea level, we would need to ride a gondola lift to the top. This little piece of information made us both a tad bit nervous, as we each have an admitted fear of heights. Nevertheless we enjoyed a 13-minute ride up to the lodge. (Yes, my OCD side came out, and I timed it just to be sure. The girl taking our lift tickets at the base of the mountain told us it would be between a 12- and a 15-minute trip, and she was correct.)

Once we were on solid ground again and our gondola riding was half done for the night, we enjoyed a good dinner and toured the lodge's bathrooms—me in the men's and PPG in the women's, of course—discovering that they were the coolest-looking bathrooms I had ever seen and were nicer than most people's houses. The toilets were not stalls but we actual, separate rooms, with a doorknob and everything.

Oh yeah—there was also that whole stargazing thing. Admittedly, I know little-to-nothing about astronomy, so I was content to look through the various telescopes and be grateful that I could make out any objects at all. The nearly full moon was out, as well, adding a great deal to the experience.

Then, at last, came the gondola ride back down to the resort. PPG, the other five people in our gondola, and I had descended for no more than a minute before the ride came to a stop, presumably to assist another passenger in a wheelchair to board a different gondola back at the top. The sudden stop caused us to sway back and forth above the rocks and darkness below and much more violently than I would have preferred, making at least three or four of us—myself included—extremely nervous for the next minute, which seemed more like a half-hour in Nervous Nelly Time.

If you could have seen my face there in the darkness—and thank goodness no one, especially my date, could—it would have been sheet-white. And for a gringo, my face is already pretty white. You also might have seen my fingernails slowly boring holes into the seat below me.

After the aforementioned minute, the gondola, fortunately, ceased its rocking and came to a standstill. After another minute, we were back on our way downhill. There were no other stoppages, thank the heavens, and I nearly French-kissed the ground when we arrived.

I said nearly. Horseshoes and hand grenades, people.