High Roller

Transporter

Never once have I paused to think about my mortality. Until this moment. 

I give out a short hoot. Why didn't I review my Last Will and Testament? Or at least, I should have named someone in my POA to make decisions for me, if I'm ever permanently or temporarily unable to do so. 

Glancing at the famed High Roller at the east end of the Las Vegas LINQ Promenade, I cower at the thought of my impending tragic demise. Opened to the public in 2014, it is currently the world's tallest ferris wheel - nine feet taller than its predecessor, the 541-foot Singapore Flyer - and the world's largest observation wheel with 28 transparent pods that can hold 40 passengers each.

Everyone else seems to be grinning, exchanging greetings. Am I the only one convinced that I'm about to depart the land of the living 550 feet above ground? A sense of gloom creeps over me as I picture it taking me for a spin, providing a 360-degree view of the city. It doesn't help that the pedestrian mall is decked out in its Halloween finest, including some impressive ghouls and werewolves. I'm certain that the macabre images are ominous of my imminent doom. 

Against the lump in my throat, I murmur anxiously. The die is cast. I'm voluntarily trading the serenity of the ground for the chance to be tossed through the air like a vegetable in a 44,000 pound rotating glass food processor. I'm a fool, I whisper to the teasing autumn wind. My entire world will be drained through a sieve and I cannot imagine how it can be reconstituted.

Wringing my hands in front of me, I pause, but then drop them, recognizing that the behavior appears weak. I reluctantly but resignedly enter one of the capsules mounted on the wheel's outboard rim and individually rotated by electric motors to smoothly maintain a horizontal cabin floor throughout each full rotation. 

I try to stem the flow of my thoughts, or at least divert their course, by looking around the interior that is garishly illuminated by a 2,000-LED blue, red, green, and purple color system. About 22 feet in diameter with a 300 square feet of glass surround, the cabin is equipped with eight flat-screen televisions and an iPod dock. 

Peering out into the abyss, I feel as though it will suck me under like the rising of a huge wave. For just this one time, I want to stop working at my faith and simply be assured that everything will be fine. My voice, though soft, is curiously charged. I need a sign. But, really, what an an absurd statement, I'm thinking. Laughably meaningless.

Momentarily frozen, I hold my breath as the giant mechanism starts to move. Below, the city shimmers with light so vivid that it hurts unshielded eyes and makes the many nooks and crannies carved on the edges of buildings dance. I watch how quickly the terrain changes. Much to my surprise, I'm spared the assault of stomach-turning weightlessness. There is little sensation of movement throughout. I reach the summit. 

There are no angels in white. I try not to sound too surprised. No pleasant warmth tingling through my body either, I promptly observe with a nervous laugh.

And just as quickly, I descend back to earth. There is no cymbal-like crash vibrating through the air as the wheel reaches bottom. The 30-minute revolution has gone quickly. I sway for a moment. A few more minutes and I'm outside in the fresh air. I'm alive, I whisper, suddenly feeling stupid. I stifle a smile. The ride is over. 

The High Roller? No big deal.