He had to go down on his hands and knees

 

Red Bull Writers'

He had to go down on his hands and knees. He crawled to the side of the foot bridge. The view was dizzying. He could see a doll's house village inhabited by ants below in the valley. He clung to the rail and tried to stand. It was no use. He felt sick. The comic in him fleetingly wondered, what would happen if he vomited over the side. The mathematician in him started to calculate the speed of the decent not just for the vomit but for his body.

The platform on which he was kneeling and clinging on to for dear life was the footbridge on L'Aiguille du Midi which he had been informed was the absolute dream, the place to see at least once in a life time. He knew it would certainly be a once in a life time experience for him vowing that he would never ever do this again but at this departure the pessimist in him thought, it could be his last,

Some how he managed to reach the platform which connects the cable car station with the Central Piton terrace. An elevator inside the rock rises by 42metres to the top terrace which would mean that he would be at an altitude of 3,842metres.

Now he had to decide. He had come this far would he be able to take the elevator inside the rock which would rise even higher to a point for the Panoramic Mont Blanc cable car, the highest cable car in the world, which connects France to Italy.

Or could he be satisfied here at this station. He remembered the publicity which described, the Aiguille du Midi as having several terraces, restaurants and services where visitors can take in the spectacular views of the French, Swiss and Italian Alps. At this point he realised that he wasn't dying. He was suffering from altitude sickness.

'That's it then. I will rise no further. He crawled into the restaurant found a seat on which he manage to climb, by a window.

'I am happy,' he said raising the cup of brandy laced coffee,'I am happy to toast the views of the Alps of three countries from this restaurant window'.

The writer and optimist thought, ' I'll write about this and read it at the next meeting of the 'Kidsgrove Band of Writers'.