The Expertise of the Professional Cable Car Rider

I hadn’t thought about Dana Tseng in nearly ten years. I had just gotten married and was actually in the middle of my honeymoon when she intruded on my memory. I suppose it’s normal, around the time one gets married, to think of past relationships and how things might have gone had other choices been made. Nonetheless, I was surprised that Dana Tseng of all people would pop into my head considering how brief our time together was. 

Of course it was the cable cars. My wife and I had taken our honeymoon in Hong Kong and she had insisted we ride the Ngong Ping cable cars. Now, it wasn’t that I was traumatized or anything like that. I wasn’t fond of heights but I certainly wasn’t going to chicken out in front my wife on our honeymoon. My past experience with Dana Tseng didn’t immediately come to mind either. As far as I was concerned, that entire incident hadn’t even centered around her. She merely came along as a supporting character. No, what brought that memory to the surface was, while we were waiting, my wife casually asking me which car looked the nicest. It was only then that my memories couldn’t help but drift to the Professional Cable Car Rider. 

I was in either my first or second year of college when I met Dana Tseng. We were both working at the school newspaper and happened to be working together one night on a tight deadline. We hadn’t really spoken before that point besides a couple of cursory greetings. We probably wouldn’t have spoken much that night either if she hadn’t put a Frank Morgan album on. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” She said. “I can’t get any work done past six unless I have some jazz playing in the background.” 

I told her I didn’t mind. I was a relative newcomer to jazz. At first, I’d been forcing myself to listen in an effort to cultivate a certain image for myself. But it hadn’t taken long before the lie became the truth and I fell in love with several of the albums I’d bought. That said, I was still fairly ignorant of the world of jazz and I doubted I’d come off as anything other than a poser if I tried to discuss it with a true aficionado. By luck though, my entry way into jazz had been Frank Morgan and he’d remained my favorite musician even as I recount these events. He was also one of the few jazz musicians whose music I’d actually be able to recognize. It was that knowledge which gave me the courage to comment on it that night in the newspaper room. Dana’s ears perked up immediately. 

“You’re a fan of Frank?” She was suddenly animated. 

We ended up talking well into the night about his work and I received several recommendations which I still listen to despite having long since forgotten the person who had introduced them to me. I can’t recall whether or not we actually managed to complete our work before the deadline. Needless to say, it wasn’t of consequence either way. I do recall that the night ended with us planning a date. I’m not sure whether it was her or I that suggested an amusement park, but that was what we ultimately decided on. The following weekend, we met up for our first date. 

I wasn’t particularly experienced in dating at the time. Not that I’m an expert now, but at that time I had almost no metric to grade things on. Regardless, I believed that things were going well, exceptionally well even. We’d found a surprising amount in common and the conversation flowed easily the entire time. That is, until we decided to take the cable cars. Again, my memory is not clear on whose idea it was, but I am inclined to think it was mine. Compared to the Ngong Ping cable cars, these were shoddy imitations. I’m sure they were perfectly adequate for the park though. They looked spacious enough and they covered the entire length of the park, the view of which was certainly nothing to sneeze at. It was also where I planned to make a move. As we looked out at the view, I would sit next to Dana and put my arm around her. If things went really well, I might even kiss her. The fact that she agreed to take the cars without hesitation was something I took as a sign that she had the same thing in mind. It was while we were waiting in line that we encountered the Professional Cable Car Rider.

There was nothing about the man which inherently made you think “cable cars”. However, he stood out for a variety of other reasons. For one, he wore glaringly bright clothes. If memory serves, he wore a bright green shirt, orange pants, and a yellow bandana. He carried a large backpack which looked like the kind you would take camping or hiking rather than when visiting an amusement park. He was holding a small notebook in which he was scribbling intensely as he stood in the middle of the line. Occasionally, he would stop writing, glance around, and return to writing again. By happenstance, he was directly ahead of us in line. As much as he stood out, nothing about him was threatening or alarming. There are plenty of different people out there after all. I could have just as easily seen him and forgotten about him immediately after had he not been so distracted by his note-taking that he failed to notice the line was advancing without him. 

“Excuse me,” I said gently.

  Immediately, he glanced up, saw the line, and scurried forward with an apology. No problem and no reason for us to interact any further. Except that was not to be the case. 

Once we caught up in line, he turned back towards us. 

“I’m sorry about that.” 

He had an accent, though I can no longer remember what kind, only that he had one. 

“I have to get the notes down while they’re still fresh in my mind. That initial reaction is important, you see. It can be easily overshadowed by the rest of the experience which is why it has to be written down first.”

I didn’t see, and judging by her face, neither did Dana. 

He must have sensed our confusion because he began to explain. 

“You see, I am a Professional Cable Car Rider.” 

“You mean like a safety inspector?” Dana asked. 

He chuckled. “No, no. Nothing like that. Though I suppose safety could end up factoring into what I do. What I do is travel about, riding various cable cars, and taking notes all the while.”

“Do you work for a magazine?” Dana asked with enough interest to surprise me. 

Again the man chuckled. “Not for any magazine per say. It’s important that the information be free. After all, it can be vital for other park-goers or even a new Professional Cable Car Rider in the making.” 

“Naturally,” I commented, feeling too uncomfortable to remain silent. 

“Does that mean that this is your first time at this park?”

He held up a finger and grinned. I got the impression he liked giving these speeches. 

“On the contrary, I’ve been visiting each day for the past week. After all, I can hardly call myself a Professional Cable Car Rider if I don’t ride every single car available.” 

“Is there really a big difference between them?” Dana asked. 

“Quite so, quite so! A considerable difference in fact.” 

He pointed up at one of the cars, a yellow one. 

“That one is weighted a little differently which causes it to lean to the left. If you sit on the left side, you can recline a bit. It’s the most comfortable one that I’ve ridden here so far. On the other hand...” 

He pointed to a red one.

“ Avoid that one at all costs.”

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked hesitantly.  

“The screws are misaligned. It’s not dangerous, but it causes the car to tilt a bit. Completely ruins the experience. It shook me up so much, I had to call it quits for the day.”

I squinted up at it. As far as I could tell, it wasn’t any different than the other cars. 

“So how many parks have you visited?” Dana asked. 

“Let’s see. This park will make two hundred and thirty-seven, as long as you’re not counting the individual cars. I have to say that this one has been a fairly pleasant experience. Nothing special, but a great starter for burgeoning enthusiasts. It hardly compares to some of the greats like the Grenoble-Bastille, Ngong Ping, or Grindelmald-Mannlichen, but I’ll have no problem recommending this park as well, provided that discernment is used when selecting the cars. 

By now, we’d reached the front of the line and the Professional Cable Car Rider bid us farewell before hopping into a purple car. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to Dana after that. Hopefully, I’d be able to get some momentum back once we were in the air. 

“Is that...” Dana started to say as a red car approached and the attendant ushered us forward. 

“No way. There’s more than one red car,” I said without confidence. 

“Maybe we should let someone else take it.”

The attendant was gesturing a bit more urgently and I was getting nervous about causing a scene. 

“Let’s just take it,” I insisted. “It’s probably not the same car and even if it was, do you really think it’d make that much of a difference? These cars are all manufactured and maintained the same way. Any difference is just your imagination.” 

Dana looked unconvinced, but she followed me on just the same. It carried us off and for a moment we sat in silence as if waiting for the car to explode. However, as far as I could tell, it felt like a perfectly normal cable car ride. 

Creak, creak, creak. 

I said as much to Dana, but she didn’t say anything. She wasn’t even looking out. She just sat there with her head down. After a few unsuccessful attempts to get her to speak, I gave up and sat back in my seat feeling put out. What even was a Professional Cable Car Rider anyway? I tried to plan out my next course of action with Dana. It wasn’t like I had done anything wrong so, once we were finished with the cable cars, we would be able to get back to where we left off. After what felt like forever, the ride finally finished. I glanced around cautiously, looking for the Professional Cable Car Rider. Thankfully, he was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in line for the return trip. 

“So what should we do next?” I asked Dana. 

“Actually, I’m not feeling very good,” Dana said. “I think I’m going to go home.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to just sit down for a bit?”

“No, I just want to go home.” 

“Well, ok. In that case, I’ll walk you...” 

“No. I’ll go back alone. If it’s all the same to you, I mean.” 

“Oh, yeah. That’s fine.” 

We walked to the bus stop. I didn’t have a car back in those days. Dana lived on campus, I lived with a friend a short drive away but far enough that we needed to take different buses. I watched Dana get on her bus and ride off without looking back. 

The next week, I went to the newspaper room to look for her, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. It wasn’t until much later that I found out she’d never come back to school. A few of her friends mentioned something about her family, but even they had only a few details or, at least, they saw no reason to share them with me. 

Eventually, I decided she must have had some prior trouble which was why she looked so upset on the cable car. It had nothing to do with me or some nonsense about misaligned screws. However, I couldn’t escape the thought that the red cable car had somehow cursed us and ruined our date. As I mentioned earlier, at some point I forgot about Dana Tseng entirely. While I had a newly acquired distaste for cable cars, I never had an opportunity to ride one again until my honeymoon when I stood with my wife in front of one. I glanced around the line with a half-remembered day floating around in my head when my eyes settled on a brightly dressed man scribbling in a notebook. 

The Professional Cable Car Rider had not, as far as I could tell, aged a day since I’d seen him ten years ago. Then again, ten years wasn’t such a long time in the grand scheme of things despite it feeling like several lifetimes ago. For an insane moment, I considered approaching him. I couldn’t say what I would have done if I had. I felt no anger toward him over a failed date I had long since forgotten, but all the same, it felt almost natural to attack him. Not that I wanted to, but that I should. It was as if he were some sort of aberration who should not exist in this world. 

Thankfully, the impulse passed before I had any opportunity to act on it. My wife didn’t seem to notice the Professional Cable Car Rider, nor did she sense the murderous intent that had seized me for a moment. It didn’t seem like this coincidence would extend any further. There were enough people between us that he couldn’t approach even if he wanted to. Not only that, but there was no reason that he would remember me. Between the two of us, he was certainly the one to cast a larger impression. However, that didn’t stop me from watching him intently as the line moved forward. 

Finally, I watched him reach the front of the line, but before I could breathe a sigh of relief, he turned and looked directly at me. For a moment, we simply stared at one another. Then, he he pointed to one of the cars. He looked back at me with a grimace and made a rocking motion with his hands. With one last wink, he turned and got onto his car. 

“It’s almost our turn,” my wife said, completely oblivious to that whole exchange. 

“Are you sure about this?” I asked. “These things don’t look particularly safe.”

“Hey, don’t even joke about that. You know how much time and money it took to get these tickets. Besides, these cars run all day, everyday, and you never hear about a single accident.”

“Right...” 

What else could I even say? There was no real reason to believe that the cable cars had been responsible for my romantic trouble all those years ago. All the same, I kept a close eye on the car the Professional Cable Car Rider had pointed to. I tried to count ahead of us. Maybe we’d miss it and get away unscathed. Sure enough though, by the time we reached the platform, it was clear that the car which had been singled out was fated to be ours. 

My wife took me by the arm and pulled me on board. I tried to bury my anxiety as best I could. We were newlyweds on our honeymoon. We were going to have a good time. The car took off and carried us into the air. 

Creak, creak, creak.