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These days, cable cars and aerial tramways (actually, the terms are synonymous) are in more than just ski resorts. They’re found all over the world — crossing the harbor in Singapore and spanning a gorge to reach an ancient monastery in Armenia. Even in areas known for skiing, they’re tourist attractions in themselves and provide rides up to mountaintops for para-gliders and backcountry trail access for hikers and mountain bikers.
Armed with my new understanding of how the lifts work, I decided to test my courage on the aerial tramway between Manhattan and Roosevelt Island.
No, neither of these places is known as a destination for skiers, backpackers or mountain bikers, but besides being relatively close to home, the cable car that connects them is high enough to have been used in episodes of “Fear Factor” and was recently rebuilt by the company that refurbished the Aiguille du Midi tramway in Chamonix.
At the tram terminal on 60th Street, I was able to recognize the basics, such as the cables running around the bull wheel. But there was a big difference here: The Roosevelt Island tram is suspended from two cables, not one. Typical for cars this big, a third cable that bears no weight does the pulling.
I pondered this while boarding with a crowd of typically nonchalant New Yorkers. There was none of the fascination or wonder that I’d seen in the Alps. Yes, the tram rocked back and forth in the spitting rain, but even the elderly and the disabled seemed more interested in their newspaper crossword puzzles and e-readers than the ride.
It may not have been the Alps, but the view of the cloud-shrouded city at twilight was pretty awesome. The wind howled, but these New Yorkers didn’t even look out the window. It was the same crowd you’d find on a New York City subway train, only high in the sky, suspended from two thin steel cables.
Finally, a young boy pointed at his friends and yelled, “If this thing stopped up here, which one of you would I eat first?”
Whew, I thought. Somebody else, even if it was a little kid, was scared.
The operator cracked the smallest bit of a smile, and a moment later, we reached Roosevelt Island. The exiting riders looked as if they were getting off a bus.
Smugly joining everybody else, I walked out of the terminal wondering how a ride like this could frighten anybody.
It was no big deal at all.
Yarvin is a writer, photographer and avid backpacker from central New Jersey who has hiked in the Alps for more than 25 years.
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