Day four in Las Vegas was, without a doubt, our best adventure yet! Literally, Bruce had saved the best for last. We knew we wanted to see the Grand Canyon, and we’d discussed several ways to do it. So imagine my shock when he announced that he’d booked us a helicopter tour.
A HELICOPTER.
I’d never been on one before, and I was genuinely excited. Somewhere in my mind, I had apparently forgotten that I wasn’t even a good airplane flyer. But the Grand Canyon from the air? What an experience! I couldn’t wait! Also, we’d signed up for tickets to the Sky Walk- whatever that was. I did wear my hiking shoes, as you can tell.
We chose Maverick Helicopters, which was only a short drive from our hotel. We flew with two other couples, and when it came time to choose seats, I picked the middle seat in the back. My reasoning was perfectly sound: if we crashed, at least I’d be sandwiched between two other people. Whether that would actually improve my chances of survival is questionable, but anxiety isn’t exactly known for its sound logic.
I was a little nervous, but I was ready for my grand adventure.
And then we took off.
I was absolutely NOT prepared for the wave of anxiety and nausea that hit me the moment we left the ground. Thankfully, I’d managed to take one picture before we were airborne, because things went downhill fast after that. Or perhaps uphill. Frankly, I didn’t care where we were going as long as it eventually involved landing.
This was nothing as I’d imagined.
I felt as though we were dangling in the air, suspended by a few questionable pieces of machinery and the pilot’s good judgment. My mind immediately started listing possible catastrophes. What if a bird flew into the blades? What if the blades simply stopped working? What if something happened to the pilot? What if the entire helicopter decided it had done enough flying for one lifetime and my number was up?
If you’re already a terrible flyer, I cannot recommend starting your aviation journey with a helicopter. Just putting that out there.
I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as humanly possible and began praying. And I mean serious praying. These weren’t the casual prayers you offer when you’re running late or hoping your favorite shoes go on sale. I didn’t stop praying until my feet hit the ground.
I took absolutely no pictures. Not one.
I was relying entirely on Bruce to document the experience because I had a much more important assignment: prayer.
Apparently, we flew over the Hoover Dam. I only know this because the pilot mentioned it. I’m sure it was spectacular. I wouldn’t know. Listening to the tour commentary wasn’t exactly my top priority.
At some point, we landed and got out of the helicopter for a champagne-and-snack break. Under normal circumstances, that would have been lovely. A little bubbly, a beautiful view, and a chance to stretch our legs? Sign me up!
Except my stomach had other plans.
In what may have been a first in my adult life, I turned down champagne.
Let that sink in for a moment.
If you know me, you know how serious this was. Things had gotten serious.
Fighting the urge to puke, I still was absolutely awestruck by the Grand Canyon. It stretched as far as I could see, and it was nothing like I had imagined. Somehow, pictures just don’t do it justice. It was enormous, breathtaking, and truly grand. For a moment, I could forget the helicopter ride and my nausea and simply take in the surrounding beauty.
We loaded back into the helicopter, and I reclaimed my comfy spot in the middle. At least I knew what to expect this time. Our next stop was the SkyWalk, and thankfully, I was feeling more reassured about my safety and ready for another adventure.
Or so I thought.
Once we arrived, we were told to put our belongings in lockers and line up. And what a line it was! The whole locker situation did absolutely nothing to reassure me. They told us to empty our pockets, too. But why? Was I going to be dangling upside down? My imagination was already working overtime.
As we finally neared the front of the line, they gave us shoe covers. And I didn’t like that. They weren’t stylish at all.
I’ll admit, my curiosity was growing. I still couldn’t see much past the people in front of me, so I had no real idea what I’d encounter.
Then it was our group’s turn.
Oh. HECK. NO.
The SkyWalk was quite literally a walk in the sky. There was a railing, thank goodness, but the floor was mostly clear glass, with only a narrow metal strip along each side.
Now, I’ve already confessed to my fear of heights. And here I was, standing above a canyon that seemed to go on forever, with nothing but glass between my feet and the vast drop below.
I was not having it.
I absolutely refused to walk on the glass. My plan was to stay on the narrow metal strips along the edges. One small problem: people were leaning over the railings, taking pictures and enjoying the view. How inconsiderate of them to enjoy themselves while I was merely trying to survive!
To stay on the metal, I had to maneuver around everyone. And with every step, my anxiety climbed. I could feel the panic building, and this was no longer just a little nervousness. I was headed straight toward a full-on panic attack.
I don’t even remember if I said anything to Bruce. At some point, my brain stopped processing anything except one very important mission: GET BACK TO SAFETY.
So I took off.
I blocked out the people, the view, the glass, and probably several other details I might have needed to remember. I just needed to get to the other side and off that thing. I think I may have even jumped over a few people lying on the glass walkway for photos. I was clearly operating on pure survival instinct.
And somewhere in the middle of all that panic, another thought crossed my mind: Well, that’s it. I’ll never be invited on another adventure again.
Here was Bruce, trying to give me these wonderful experiences, and I was apparently one more incident away from proving I was crazy.
Looking back, I can laugh about it. At the time, though, nothing about how frightened I felt was funny. I wanted to be adventurous. I wanted to see incredible places and make wonderful memories. But wanting those things and actually enjoying them when your brain is screaming DANGER are two entirely different things.
The Grand Canyon was every bit as magnificent as I’d hoped. The SkyWalk? I can appreciate the engineering without ever needing to repeat the experience.
By the end of the flight, however, I was feeling much braver. I downright felt like a survivor! I finally managed to open my eyes a tiny sliver to take a photo.
Progress!
When we landed, I was probably the happiest person on earth. I wanted to kiss the ground, hug the pilot, and celebrate the fact that my feet were once again firmly planted on something that wasn’t moving.
Looking back, I do wish I’d enjoyed the experience more. I’m sure the views were breathtaking, and I regret that fear kept me from seeing much of them. But I absolutely do not regret going.
Now that I know what to expect, I think I’d be better prepared if I ever got to take another helicopter ride. I might even keep my eyes open for more than three seconds at a time!
Would I recommend a helicopter tour to someone visiting the Grand Canyon? Absolutely. Would I recommend starting with a half-day helicopter adventure if you’re already a nervous flyer? Probably not. Maybe ease yourself into it with something that doesn’t involve dangling thousands of feet in the air.
Just a thought.
After that adventure, I needed another nap. I was mentally exhausted. Spending several hours convinced you’re about to meet your maker takes a lot out of a person.
Again, a nap (and dinner) do wonders for the soul.
One of my favorite meals of the trip was at Spago, another Bellagio restaurant. Believe me when I tell you that I could live at the Bellagio. Between the beautiful surroundings and the restaurants, I knew I’d found my happy place.
I ordered a fish dish, and they prepared it especially for me without garlic. The dish looked pretty and came with sauce. What a treat! I usually have to leave off sauces because they all contain garlic. After the disappointing dinner earlier in the trip, this was a welcome change. Good food, a beautiful setting, and a kitchen that understood the assignment? Heaven!
Since it was our last full day in Las Vegas, we returned to the Chandelier Bar for another Verbena cocktail.
This time, the bar was packed! We found a good spot, though, and settled in to talk about the day’s adventures. After everything we’d experienced, it was nice to slow down, enjoy our drinks, and laugh that I’d somehow survived a helicopter tour.
We also had a few meaningful conversations about life, our dreams, and the challenges of divorce and singledom. Sometimes, the most memorable moments of a trip aren’t the grand adventures or the spectacular views. They’re the quiet conversations that happen when you finally have time to sit still and talk about what really matters.
And that was the perfect way to end our last full day in Las Vegas.
I’d arrived in the city with anxiety, apprehension, and a mind full of worst-case scenarios. Now, after a helicopter ride that nearly sent me into orbit emotionally, I was sitting in a beautiful bar with someone I enjoyed being with, reflecting on how much can change in just a few days.
Would I climb into that helicopter again?
Ask me after another glass of wine.
For now, I’m counting it as a victory. I went, I flew, I prayed, and I lived to tell the tale.
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