I know that look.
It is the grim expression of a woman on a horrible date with her best friend’s brother. It is the resigned expression that means this is a situation with no easy way out. The pinched smile hides an effort to stay cheerful and enthusiastic.
Nicky is wearing that look.
But Nicky is not on a date. She is strapped vertically, belly down and head first into a canvass harness connected with four metal clips to the highest, and one of the fastest, zip lines in the world.
A three-hour drive from Naples, Italy, in the heart of Basilicata, Volo dell Angelo is an adventure experience called “Flight of the Angels.”
Nicky was about to fly - zipping from one mountaintop to another on a cable strung between the villages of Castelmezzano and Pietrapertosa.
Her husband Joe is applauding her courage from the landing pad where eight of us are standing after our own headfirst flight from one mountain to another. Our adrenaline is still pumping. Because we have to do it again, to get back.
This is so terrifying, that two in our group have declined to fly the zip line after hiking up the steep trail to the first flight station platform. The fear is easy to understand, which is why I went first, before terror could fully kick in.
The operators said that no journalist has ever done the zip line with a still camera. I felt challenged to photograph firsthand such a thrilling, albeit intimidating experience, and I did not want any time to ponder a worst case scenario.
Cinched into my harness face down, the zip line disappeared ahead into thin air with no end in sight.
Below me was a rock cliff dropping off to a deep canyon. The push from the ramp came, the ground fell away, and the thrill of “flying” 74 miles per hour at an altitude of 3,200 feet for almost a mile trumped the fear. Fighting to keep my head up against the wind, I had tried to capture the experience through the lens.
Euphoric after our wild ride on the “Peschiera” zip line from the town of Castelmezzano to Pietrapertosa, we are shuttled a short distance into the second village. The return flight on the “San Martino” zip line is going to take us back across the canyon, and it’s a short hike to the flight station.
Everyone has flown, screaming at the top of their lungs, back across the canyon.
I am the last flyer geared up, standing on the platform overlooking the mighty Dolomites and a deep ravine scattered with colorful villas, winding rural roads and tiny farms.
But this time it is not the frozen grin of a terrified American, dreading the launch off a mountain in Italy, but the smile of another angel ready to fly.