Carol’s Column

I always wanted to be a bat

MY TEETH dropped out somewhere on the Empire Road bend.

They probably landed up in Doornfontein at the speed they were travelling.

My hair turned white at the top of the big loop — so much so for a cheap do-it-yourself dye job.

And my stomach? It's still residing somewhere in the region of my knees which is where it dropped when I found myself looping the loop and upside down over Johannesburg the other night.

Have you ever seen the lights of the city suspended from a little carriage defying the forces of gravity? Eat your heart out, Evil Knievel.

What, might you ask, was a flat-footed, middle-aged mother of four doing shooting through the stratosphere on a Wednesday night?

Good question.

It was simple.

"Ma, you gotta come try the Looping Star," said Jamie, my youngest unmarried son, smiling engagingly, his green eyes wide.

Looping Star? It sounded like a new movie at the local flea pit.

"Sure," I said enthusiastically always game for a giggle. Children like to feel parents are supportive.

It gives them a sense of security which will help them in later life when they have to cope with the strains of adulthood — such as making their own beds and putting away their washing.

To cut a long story short — it was this reckless decision that caused me to find myself not sitting comfortably in a plush cinema seat chewing popcorn.

Instead I landed up at Milner Park showgrounds chewing popcorn in a roller coaster.

We stood patiently in a queue, all around, people jostled excitedly.

"Isn't this the greatest," said a candyfloss-haired teenager in the tightest jeans I'd ever seen.

Good heavens, how did she manage to fit all her tubes and other innards into those pants?

Above us was the most intricate conglomeration of technicolor-painted steel and metal.

Attached to the rails were trains that — with a zoom and a voom — took off at the most alarming speed and proceeded to whirl and twirl their occupants through an amazing series of loops.

Someone said their screams of joy could be heard as far away as Pretoria. I wasn't surprised.

My companion — 11-year-old Jamie, nudged me reassuringly. "Great, hey, Ma," he shouted carried away by the excitement.

"Jamie, this is not for me," I yelled back as we were slowly propelled to the head of the queue. My voice was lost.

"Jamie!" I yelled.

"Ma, you sound hysterical," he said coolly. "This 's fun. You'll love it."

And then, there we were, sitting in the coaster — clamped in tight — about to roll.

"Enjoy yourself, Granny," said a curly-haired gentleman resplendent in a bright crimson jacket. "And, hang on real tight."

A thought struck me. If I fell out, who would do the lift scheme, feed the dogs and unblock the drains?

Suddenly, the roller coaster started up the first loop.

The view was breathtaking. Far, far, much too far below us, Johannesburg sparkled away.

And then, like greased lightning, we shot off, down, over, round. Turning, swirling, whirling and screaming.

It will suffice to say that I kept my eyes open throughout the experience. Which is why I saw the world from the top of the loop suspend [TEXT CUT OFF WITH SCISSORS]

Inside, my gizzards rattled and my kidneys shook. My circulation revved — as did my heart beat.

How embarrassing if some part of me dropped out. I'd never find it among the crowds below.

And then, before I could say Jack Sprat — or something equally intellectual, we were back where we started.

"It's OK, Gran," said redcoat. "You can stop screaming — the ride's over."

I couldn't speak. I'd lost my voice along with my teeth.

"Were you scared, Ma?" asked Jamie, his bands glittering in the flashing neon lights.

"Don't be crazy," I snapped, my eyes swivelling on stalks, my hair standing on edge. "That was sensational! Do you think I look scared?"

"Yes."

He was right. But I tell you — it beats listening to Springbok radio for fun.

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