Devil's Run (17 page)

Cory Canfield was barely
five feet tall, but she radiated energy like a nuclear reactor. For such a tiny
woman, she had a spectacular figure, which her tight black pants and clinging
turtleneck sweater did nothing to hide. Her face was angelic, the olive skin
smooth and flawless, the dark eyes skillfully made up. Her thick mane of shiny
black hair was corralled in a ponytail.

“Mrs. Canfield,” I said,
“a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, call me Cory,” she
said, grabbing my hand and shaking it three times with great emphasis. She
cranked out another high wattage smile for Ms. Ricasso. “Hi, Izzy!”

I looked at Ms. Ricasso,
eager to see the explosion, but she managed something approximating a smile and
nodded, probably not trusting herself to speak.

 “I must say I’m a
little surprised to be greeted by a senator’s wife,” I said, retrieving my
hand.

“Oh, gosh, I love riding
on this thing.” She held up the camera. “I’m trying to get pictures of the
canyon at every time of day. The changes are amazing.” She leaned in
conspiratorially. “Photography is kind of a hobby of mine. I’m afraid it drives
everyone nuts.”

“I’d love to see your
pictures.”

She did some excited
hops that caused the ponytail, among other things, to bounce up and down
rhythmically. “Really? That would be great. I’ve got them on the Internet. We
can use one of the computers.”

“Mrs. Canfield,” said
Ms. Ricasso, “we should be going.”

“Oh gosh, Izzy, you’re
right.” She waved me into the cabin. “Come on, Nick. You’re going to love
this.” She turned and went in, clapping her hands in anticipation.

I looked at Ms. Ricasso,
who rewarded me with her usual look of stony impassivity.

The passenger
compartment had less head room than I would have expected, considering the
overall size of the vehicle. Plush leather upholstered seats surrounded a
central column, all facing out. This arrangement left plenty of standing room
against the bulkhead, where a leather wrapped handrail was bolted just beneath
the windows.

“Come on, Nick,” said
Cory, “I know the best place to sit.”

She very nearly skipped
along the carpeted deck to the opposite end of the cabin where there was
another set of doors and a small console with a red telephone. Cory picked up
the phone and pressed a button.

“Hi, it’s Cory. We’re
ready.” After a pause she said in a slightly dejected tone. “Oh, okay.”

“Something wrong?” I
said.

“She smiled and replaced
the phone.” No, we have to wait while they fill the water.”

“Water?”

“Yeah.” She stamped her
foot twice on the deck. “We carry fresh water up every time, mostly for the emergency
supply, especially after the fire. The whole bottom part of the car is a water
tank. It helps stabilize the cabin, too. Ballast, I think you call it.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you need to
carry water up? Why not just capture rainwater or melt snow?”

She looked at me,
astonished. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“It’s illegal in
Colorado for us to capture rainwater.”

“You’re kidding.”

She shook her head.
“Water belongs to everyone. If people started collecting rain water the aquifer
would be even more depleted than it is already.” She leaned in close. “And it’s
pretty bad already. Global warming.” She sat back up, nodding her head as if
I’d raised an objection. “We’re in a serious drought.”

“Reminds me of a saying
I heard once.”

“What was that?’

“Out west whisky’s for
drinking and water’s for fighting over.”

She seemed puzzled for a
moment, then sat back and laughed. “Oh, gosh, that’s good. I’ll have to tell
Jack that one.”

We sat in silence until
a thought hit me.

“What do they carry
down?” I said.

“What do what carry
down?”

“The cable car. If you
use water as ballast on the way up, what do you use on the way down?”

She thought for a
moment. “You know, I don’t know. Let me ask.”

She jumped up and went
to the phone again. After a brief pause, she repeated my question. The answers
apparently fascinated her.

“Oh. Oh! Really! That is
interesting. Thank you so much… Oh, okay!” She hung up the phone and turned to
me, shivering with anticipation. She clapped her hands lightly. “We’re going to
start.”

She returned to the seat
next to me. I was acutely aware of her perfume and the warmth that radiated off
her. Senator Canfield was either the happiest man alive or ready to shoot
himself. Ms. Ricasso stood at the other end of the car, watching us with an expression
that never changed. I began to wonder if she had forgotten to peel off a facial
mask.

“So,” said Cory, “do you
want to know what I learned?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, the ballast isn’t
necessary, unless the wind gets to hurricane force. That’s why the car is
shaped so funny, so the wind bends around it and it doesn’t blow into the
towers. You know, old cable cars are sort of square, so wind gusts really
affect them. This one is designed for winds up to seventy-five miles an hour,
but he told me that if the wind gets over fifty here, they don’t empty the tank
when they get to the top.”

Just then a bell rang
twice. A few moments later, the cabin jerked slightly and we accelerated
smoothly out of the berth. As soon as we cleared the station, the floor and seats
began to rotate.

“Isn’t this cool?” said
Cory, in a tone worthy of a twelve year old. “I always sit here, because it
brings you around at the perfect time to see the view down the canyon. It’s
spectacular.”

“Good,” I said.

The first tower swept
by, with only a few gentle bumps to mark our passage over the guide wheels.

“Did you feel that?” she
asked.

“Ummm, yes.”

“When the car passes
over the pylon, it changes the tension on the cable. There is this huge concrete
block, gosh, it weighs tons, that helps maintain the tension on the guide
wires. It’s really weird looking, with big holes in it. I’ll show it to you.”

“Thanks. That would be
great.”

We entered the maw of
Diablo Canyon, where the narrow walls and angled winter sun resulted in
something close to twilight. The sheer granite was shot through with cracks and
fissures, accented here and there with ice falls. The deep snow could not hide
the fact that the canyon floor passing beneath us was strewn with jagged shards
of stone and massive boulders that had fallen from the rock face.

We rode along in silence
for a few minutes, the seats slowly moving down the cabin. Considering it was
nearly empty, it seemed a little odd that we were sitting so close together,
but who was I to complain? Her shoulder was pressed against mine, but maybe she
was cold. I just hoped she kept her eyes on the passing scenery and did not
notice the involuntary proof that I was not immune to a little feminine
stimulation.

“Gosh, that’s huge!” she
suddenly exclaimed.

“Who, what?” I felt the
blood rush to my face.

She jumped out of her
seat and went to the window. “Look at that ice fall!”

She pointed at a frozen
waterfall, whose thick frosty stalactites extended hundreds of feet towards the
canyon floor.

“I’ve got to get a
picture of that,” said Cory.

She pushed open one of
the windows. Air blasted into the cabin. Caught off balance, she stumbled back,
falling into my arms, her body pressing against mine. I caught her, my hand
briefly cupping one lovely breast as I lifted her to her feet.

“Wow. Thanks,” she said,
collecting herself. “I didn’t expect that wind to be so strong.” She held up
her right hand to show the camera dangling from her wrist. “Good thing I was
wearing the strap.”

“Absolutely,” I said.

I glanced back at Ms.
Ricasso. I’d seen lions on Animal Planet watch passing gazelles with the same
expression.

“Okay, I’m going to try
again,” said Cory. She stepped up to the window. “Oh, darn. I wish I wasn’t so
small.” She turned to me. “Can you do me a big favor?”

“Sure. I think.”

“Can you lift me up so I
can get this shot?”

I looked over at Ms.
Ricasso. “Gee, I’m not sure.”

“Oh, come on, Nick.
Please? I’m going to miss it.”

“Alright.”

She smiled and turned
back to the window with a little hop. I placed both hands on her waist and
lifted her into the air. While I tried to remember the number of the
commandment I was breaking, she snapped merrily away.

“Okay. I’m done.
Thanks.”

I set her gently down
and she turned, her breasts lightly brushing me just below the rib cage. She
didn’t seem to notice, focused as she was on scrolling through the pictures she
had just taken.

“Great, great. I got it.
Look at that.”

She thrust the camera
into my face. It did indeed show a picture of the ice fall, in focus but
indifferently framed.

“Very nice.”

“Thanks! Come on.”

She led me back to our
seats, which had continued their slow progress towards the opposite end of the
cabin.

“So, Cory, tell me, is
the senator here with you?”

“No, but he will be. He’s
flying in today for the party.”

“Party?”

“Yes. We’re having a
dinner party for some people tonight.”

“Is that right? Anyone
interesting?”

“Not really. Just the
mayor and the EPA guys, and some other people from the town.”

“The police chief?”

“I hope so. I really
like Catherine.”

The cabin shuddered
slightly as we crossed another tower. Our seats were now facing back down the
canyon.

“Isn’t that an amazing
view?” said Cory.

Indeed it was, although
it was like looking out from the mouth of a crocodile.

“Oh, look, I bet that’s
Jack!” cried Cory.

I followed her pointing
finger. Sunlight flashed off the wings of a small jet as it settled onto the
airstrip.

“Is he coming from
Washington?”

“No,” said Cory.
“Arizona. He’s been down there speaking about the border.”

“That’s a big deal for
him, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, her
tone very serious. “Jack believes that border security is the most important
issue of our time, what with the drug violence in Mexico, illegal immigration,
and the ongoing threat of terrorism.”

“He may be right,” I
said.

Someone must have helped
her memorize the talking points, I thought unkindly. Equally cynical was my
thought that it was handy for Canfield to have a Latina wife when his core
issue was policing the border with Mexico. She added credibility to the claim
that his only concern was national security. Nevertheless, he was probably
smart to leave her on a mountaintop when he was out talking policy. No telling
what might come out of her mouth when she got wound up.

The cabin abruptly
filled with sunshine as we climbed above the enveloping arms of Diablo Canyon.
The distant mountains were given dramatic counterpoint by the thick stands of
conifer trees sweeping by on the nearby slope. A spot of color caught my eye, a
skier in one of those orange staff parkas. I watched in awe as he effortlessly
navigated a narrow, steep ski trail that skirted the cliff edge, protected only
by a low wooden fence.

“That’s Corrida del Diablo,” said Cory.

“Devil’s Run,” I said,
half to myself.

“A triple black
diamond.” She looked at me. “You speak Spanish?”

“Enough to order
groceries in a bodega.”

“You’re funny,” she
said, laughing. “Do you ski?”

“Not like that.”

“I know what you mean.
It’s very dangerous. I asked Jack to stay away from that trail.”

I watched the skier,
wondering how he stayed on his feet in such tortured terrain. Then the trail
curved away from the cliff, and he vanished into the trees.

“Oh, come on, Nick,”
said Cory, grabbing my hand. “This is really cool.” She dragged me to the other
end of the cabin. “We’re actually going inside the mountain.”

Ahead was a sheer cliff.
The only break in the gray wall was a bright, rectangular cave guarded by a
sloping roof, about thirty feet below the crest. Inside was the cable car
station.

“That’s part of the
bar,” said Cory, pointing up.

Directly above the
station sunlight reflected off tall windows right at the edge of the cliff.

“Must be a helluva
view,” I said.

“Oh, the restaurant is
better. You can see the ski area and the whole town.”

The cabin began to slow
as we approached the tramway station. The berth was nearly identical to the one
below. Twin pipes, about five inches in diameter, protruded about a foot from
the concrete wall just below the doors in each berth. The angle was slightly
suggestive, but maybe it was my mood.

We rode the last few
feet into the cavern at a gentle rate of speed and came to a smooth halt with
no hint of wobble. Several seconds later, the doors facing the station hissed
open. I turned to let Cory by. She shook her head and gave me that big smile.

“No, you go ahead. I’m
going down to meet Jack.” She stuck out her hand. “It was great meeting you,
Nick.”

“The pleasure was all
mine,” I said.

I took her hand, and on
the spur of the moment, decided to imitate Herr Kohl. I bent slightly at the
waist and raised her hand to my lips. Damned if she didn’t giggle, too. The old
boy might have something with this hand kissing stuff. Ms. Ricasso studiously
ignored us, brushing past me into the station. As she did so, the warning bell
rang twice. I released Cory’s hand and exited the cabin.

The upper tramway
station was Spartan compared to the one at the bottom, an odd mixture of
Flintstones and Star Wars. A little over two stories tall and about seventy
feet deep, the walls were mostly bare rock. The reinforced concrete boarding
platform was identical to the base station, but it seemed to grow right out of
the granite. The cables disappeared into an opening in the back wall. Just
below them, looking down on the platform, was the control room for the tramway,
shielded by a window of thick Plexiglas. A man in a high backed chair worked
the console. It occurred to me that this was the reverse of the usual
arrangement. Ropeways were normally operated from the base; here control was
reserved to those on the mountain.