The climb

At the age of 16, I took a spring break vacation to Miami Beach Florida with three high school buddies, Jim, Irwin and Barry. We split the bill at a cheap motel on the inner coastal waterway. By day, we hung out at hotel pools along Collins Avenue, and chased girls. At night, we hung out at Big Daddy's Lounge listening to Barry White music, and chased girls. No one bothered to card us, so we drank a few beers.

One afternoon, Jim and I stopped at a construction site next to the Singapore Hotel. A large crane stood dormant and there were no workers around. The steel ball at the top of the crane was level with the 11th story of the Singapore, about 110 feet high. I can't remember who first came up with the idea. We decided to climb the crane that night.

At about 9 PM that evening, we donned our Converse basketball shoes (for a tight grip) and headed for the site. At the bottom of the crane, we looked up, and then at each other, a little nervous. Sure it was dangerous, but the adventure far outweighed the danger or the risk of getting caught.

Like most standard cranes, the bars of the superstructure crossed in an X with a supporting bottom bar, all the way up. After a test climb of 10 feet, we came down and decided that it was no problem. We started to climb. 30 feet up, we paused to rest and look around.

At about 70 feet, we rested again and took in the sights. The warm fragrant wind blew in our faces as we tried to contain our excitement. We had done alot of crazy things in high school, but nothing could quite match this. We pressed on. At 90 feet, the ball at the top was clearly in sight.

Ten minutes later, we reached the top, touched the steel ball and settled into sitting positions. Small points of light dotted the ocean horizon. Collins Avenue traffic stretched north and south for miles as people walked a short distance from the unlit construction site.

We started down twenty minutes later. Methodically, in no rush, we negotiated every steel bar perfectly in a rhythm that kept us together on opposite sides of the superstructure. Pausing again at about the same levels as on the way up, I half-expected the police to be waiting for us at the bottom.

The coast was clear. We scurried down the final 10 feet and hopped off the crane laughing our hearts out. We did it!

Over the years, I have told very few people about the experience. I save it mostly for myself during those times when I need to call on a reserve of pride and strength. A while back, I read somewhere that people rarely look up as they go about their daily business. So true--so true.