Zorb!

Can't you just picture it? A bunch of Kiwis stilling around the farm saying: "There's no bridge to jump off... no river to jetboat down... how can we make use of this hill?" Thus, the zorb was born. This NZ-created activity involves strapping yourself into a giant inflatable ball and rolling down a hill. If the prospect of repeatedly tumbling ass-over-teakettle is too extreme, you can opt to hydro-zorb. The inner core of the zorb is filled with water and you slosh all around, but never turn upside down.

Registration involved the usual health-related questions and warnings. After paying and going through all the motions, the girl ahead of me said, "Well... I do have epilepsy." She and the desk clerk decided this "probably wasn't an issue." That's the Kiwi spirit! She'll be right.

After being transported to the top of the hill, I squeezed myself headfirst into a narrow opening in the zorb (reminiscent of being born) and took a seat on a small bench area. The zorb operator then crawled in after me to strap my feet and chest harness. He instructed me to hold on to the handles above my head and keep my head pressed back against the zorb wall. He climbed out, gave me a push, and down I went.

The zorb was exponentially less terrifying than my bungy jump, but equally fun. I have no desire to bungy jump ever again, but I would happily zorb down a hill every morning. To be honest, I wondered if the zorb would be too tame because it didn't look to be moving that fast down the hill. (NZ has turned me into an adrenaline snob.) I had no reason to worry... that ball takes some really big bounces. It feels like you're in a washing machine on spin cycle. I couldn't tell up from down or left from right. I laughed the whole time. I'm told it sounded like I let out a giant "whoop!" with each revolution. I couldn't hear anything inside the zorb, but I'm told that the loudspeaker was playing everyone's favorite power ballad as I tumbled down the hill... GNR's "Patience." Sweet as!