Digital subscribers can listen to this article. Subscribe today for unlimited access to Texas Monthly. Already a subscriber? Log in. Five men in athletic shorts yank on the rope clipped onto my harness, lifting me one hundred feet above ground. Below me, kayakers circle like tiny yellow-and-orange marbles on the shimmering lake. A bird flaps past at eye level, likely wondering what the hell I’m doing up here. You and me both.“Ya ready?” yells the bearded guy manning this “fun” activity, aptly named the Screamin’ Eagle. “Then pull the tabs on your belt and fly!” My body hurtles through the air toward a thick wooden pole and whooshes back again, like a creaky, middle-aged pendulum, and while I swing and scream, and scream and swing, one…
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