Zip Line Ride Quotes

My lips are zipped. He is pretty. All that blond hair and those eyes. I'd do him." "Line is closed. Go back to your own ride.

From the top of my head to the soles of my feet, I'm wearing black: knit watch cap, a long-sleeved wool pullover on top of a polypropylene undershirt, tough black Cordura nylon cargo pants and high-top black cross-trainers. It's all very ninja. Over all that, I've got a Kevlar-lined tactical vest with six magazines of nine-millimeter frangible ammunition. The magazines are for the suppressed Uzi submachine gun slung over my back. I've also got a black tactical belt rig around my waist, suppressed Ruger .22 automatic riding low on one hip, with two spare mags and a combat knife balancing the load on the other side. I've got a short-range secure radio set clipped to my back, the wire running up to a headset tucked around my ear, throat mic hanging loose at the moment. One frag grenade and two flash-bangs round out my arsenal. I've got a small LED flashlight, a multi-tool, a couple of plastic zip-tie restraints, and that's it. I like to keep my loadout light so I'm quick on my feet; I've seen too many guys bite it because they were turtled by their combat gear. I feel like a G.I. Joe commando. Hell, all I need is a code-name.

Travel Bucket List 1. Have a torrid affair with a foreigner. Country: TBD. 2. Stay for a night in Le Grotte della Civita. Matera, Italy. 3. Go scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef. Queensland, Australia. 4. Watch a burlesque show. Paris, France. 5. Toss a coin and make an epic wish at the Trevi Fountain. Rome, Italy. 6. Get a selfie with a guard at Buckingham Palace. London, England. 7. Go horseback riding in the mountains. Banff, Alberta, Canada. 8. Spend a day in the Grand Bazaar. Istanbul, Turkey. 9. Kiss the Blarney Stone. Cork, Ireland. 10. Tour vineyards on a bicycle. Bordeaux, France. 11. Sleep on a beach. Phuket, Thailand. 12. Take a picture of a Laundromat. Country: All. 13. Stare into Medusa’s eyes in the Basilica Cistern. Istanbul, Turkey. 14. Do NOT get eaten by a lion. The Serengeti, Tanzania. 15. Take a train through the Canadian Rockies. British Columbia, Canada. 16. Dress like a Bond Girl and play a round of poker at a casino. Montreal, Quebec, Canada. 17. Make a wish on a floating lantern. Thailand. 18. Cuddle a koala at Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary. Queensland, Australia. 19. Float through the grottos. Capri, Italy. 20. Pose with a stranger in front of the Eiffel Tower. Paris, France. 21. Buy Alex a bracelet. Country: All. 22. Pick sprigs of lavender from a lavender field. Provence, France. 23. Have afternoon tea in the real Downton Abbey. Newberry, England. 24. Spend a day on a nude beach. Athens, Greece. 25. Go to the opera. Prague, Czech Republic. 26. Skinny dip in the Rhine River. Cologne, Germany. 27. Take a selfie with sheep. Cotswolds, England. 28. Take a selfie in the Bone Church. Sedlec, Czech Republic. 29. Have a pint of beer in Dublin’s oldest bar. Dublin, Ireland. 30. Take a picture from the tallest building. Country: All. 31. Climb Mount Fuji. Japan. 32. Listen to an Irish storyteller. Ireland. 33. Hike through the Bohemian Paradise. Czech Republic. 34. Take a selfie with the snow monkeys. Yamanouchi, Japan. 35. Find the penis. Pompeii, Italy. 36. Walk through the war tunnels. Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam. 37. Sail around Ha long Bay on a junk boat. Vietnam. 38. Stay overnight in a trulli. Alberobello, Italy. 39. Take a Tai Chi lesson at Hoan Kiem Lake. Hanoi, Vietnam. 40. Zip line over Eagle Canyon. Thunderbay, Ontario, Canada.

Cheapskate The day I blurted the word out at my father I was still an in-the-dark toe-headed excuse for leaving early from the Sunday ritual - the after-church bourbon-fumed lunches of deviled eggs, Vienna sausages, and saltines at his mother’s airless La Jolla bungalow, what Purgatory must’ve smelled like in 1962. I doubt even this “intermediate state after death for expiatory purification,” according to Webster, endured as long as our visits that my own mother artfully dodged and I failed to appreciate, an annoyance that incited the battle-axe’s contempt and me to mime her derision, drawing into question the battery life of her cumbersome hearing aids. Often my father zipped a finger across his throat, though amusement danced in the lines of his brow, unlike when I burst in on them à la Soupy Sales or lurched into histrionic spasms of boredom, forcing their conversation into ellipses, usually over an envelope he set by her lipsticked tumbler. That called for banishment to the tiny courtyard where among a few droopy orange trees I could kill time and escape the weird reversal of my father no longer himself to her, but a mother to his own mother, a slow suffocation that on occasion drove him outside. During our last visit, the week of a heat wave, I’d been rolling oranges like depth-charges into her moribund pond of scabby goldfish. I had no idea anger could travel in the family when the door kicked open, and out he came cracking like ice in a glass of the bourbon hidden in her unused kitchenette oven. One of the oranges swiped his wingtips with its fetid juice, and he picked it up, a Zeus lost in a thousand-yard gaze of divine wrath, then hurled it at the pink retaining wall. Long after he returned inside I stood still, entranced by the splatter as if its tentacles of anger reached out to me, though my behavior, the orange, or even cash in an envelope - what he feared I’d one day too place beside his own drink - had less to do with his outburst than imagined. Nothing was ever so simple about him. On the drive home, the windows rolled up, we swept by 31 Flavors without slowing down while kids on tailgates slurped ice cream, and riding shotgun, I just snapped, calling him that terrible thing you can never take back - a cheapskate. Suddenly we coasted in the wake of it worse than any blasphemy or sacrilege, the tires thumping louder than ever on seamed concrete until his white knuckles flew off the wheel at me, and belted-in I ducked to cushion the blow. His legacy halted mid-air. By chance in the rearview mirror he’d caught his own father’s fist coming on fast, too late for both of us to get out of the way.