Chapter 33 The Iron Way
The Iron Way
I’ve figured out why The Adventureverse is being nice to us.
At first, I didn’t understand why they would want us to travel from Iceland together.
This show usually thrives on teams getting on the wrong train, driving an hour in the wrong direction, or missing a flight.
It clicked somewhere around the second train ride that a transportation mix-up here it would be a logistical nightmare, not just for the teams or the production crew, but for the viewer.
It takes two buses, a plane, four trains, and a cable car to get to the town of Mürren, Switzerland.
During my time on this show, I haven’t often been grateful for production, but I am grateful for this. The stress of having to navigate all of those transfers on my own would leave me no mental bandwidth to deal with Yumi’s multi-hour freakout.
“They’re gonna push us off a mountain,” she says, face pressed into my shoulder as the cable car climbs higher and higher.
“They would never. Think of the lawsuits.” I know my joking tone won’t make her feel better, but I don’t know what else to do.
My favorite grounding technique—five things you see, hear, smell, and feel—doesn’t exactly work when the person panicking can’t open their eyes without falling to their knees.
Worse, the farther into the Lauterbrunnen Valley we get, the more confident I am that her fears are founded. This is going to be a heights challenge. No amount of lying to Yumi is going to change that.
“Keep your eyes closed,” I instruct gently, resting my hand in front of them for good measure.
“Okay,” she whispers, like the mountain might hear her.
The cable car is an enclosed structure with floor-to-ceiling windows. I would never tell Yumi this, but I love the view. It’s early and the sunrise is just now breaking through the mantle of mist obscuring the boundary between sky and land.
Never before have I fully grasped the meaning of idyllic, but I get it now.
Lakes and rivers slice through the landscape, the remaining snowcaps melting into delicate waterfalls that cascade down the greenery-covered cliff faces.
Iceland was breathtaking for how otherworldly it was.
Switzerland is breathtaking for how worldly it is.
When aliens imagine Earth, they’re picturing Switzerland.
“Almost there,” I say, squeezing her tighter into my side as I watch the station sink under our near-vertical rise of over 2,500 feet.
Morgan, who’s comforting Matt in a similar way, glances over at me with a supportive smile.
He’s much more stoic about his fears, though, and there’s something deeply sad about that.
It must be difficult to be terrified but not be able to seek comfort from someone who loves you.
Sad for Matt, sad for Morgan, sad for men and the people who date them.
At least my fake girlfriend doesn’t have to stare out the window and pretend it doesn’t bother her.
“Oh my God,” Yumi whimpers, her face pulled taut on the precipice of a total meltdown. “I can’t do this.”
We stand at the end of a hiking path, wearing blue helmets and matching harnesses, secured snugly at our waists and thighs.
Each harness has an attached pair of lobster claws—V-shaped tethers that help you move between fixed lines.
My dad used a similar pair back when he was a lineman who had to climb electrical poles.
A guide showed us how to clip in and out safely, never unclipping both claws at the same time. He double-checked our gear, watched us practice, and the whole time, Yumi’s seemed shell-shocked.
I’ve been wrestling with myself. Is it my place to nudge Yumi through this, or do I tell her it’s okay if she can’t do it, that I’m just happy we made it this far? What’s higher on the priority list: being a good friend or being a good teammate?
Before we left Arizona, she’d been adamant: “Whatever it is—zip-lining, bungee jumping, parasailing—you’ll just have to push me. I mean it. No matter what I say in the moment, just send me flying.”
And I was fully prepared to do that. Then I opened the challenge envelope.
Mandatory Team Challenge—DON’T LOOK DOWN: Via ferrata is Italian for iron way.
These fixed climbing routes—usually comprised of cables, iron rungs, and ladders—provided a practical route for mountainous farmers in isolated communities to reach high pastures.
They were notably used by World War I soldiers to cross the Dolomites mountain range.
Today, Adventurers must traverse a section of the sheer cliff that will put them 2,000 feet above the Lauterbrunnen Valley. Teams will go one at a time. The team with the slowest time will be eliminated.
No ambiguity. No choice. Mandatory. Will be eliminated.
Pushing her is off the table, because this isn’t a pushable challenge. Yumi has to actively participate. This show is evil.
“We don’t have to do it,” I say tentatively.
“Mmmmmm,” she groans, looking pained.
“I…” I try to run a hand over my braids but meet the smooth plastic of my helmet instead. “I don’t know what to do, Yums,” I say.
She looks up, the fear temporarily shifting into bright-eyed surprise. “You called me Yums,” she says with that childlike delight I’ve known almost my entire life.
Is that really the first time? “I did,” I confirm with a smile.
In the back of my mind, I know this conversation is not a conversation that a lovesick couple would have.
It probably looks bad on camera, the audience wondering why Yumi is so stunned I would call her by the most obvious nickname the name Yumi can have.
But to course-correct would be to remind my partner that we are standing on the edge of her wildest nightmares, and I simply won’t do that—even if it means raising questions for those watching.
She sighs, eyes fixed on me, and the moment is electric. Conduction, connection, a light to see by. “I want to do this. I’m just terrified.”
My stupid heart hears those words and sees her face and wishes for something else. Head in the game, Noelle. “I got you, then. If you want it done, we’ll get it done.”
Her entire body swells on an inhale that she holds and then releases with a frustrated noise. “Let’s just do it. Let’s just do it,” she repeats, more to herself than me.
I follow her to the point where the thick guide cable rounds a corner and the ground just…
vanishes. Yumi slides her lobsters’ tethers over, and I follow.
I don’t know what happens if we get stuck, if Yumi enters a state of panic so severe that she can’t move.
Who breaks first, production or my best friend?
I hate The Adventureverse for doing this to her. I hate the content-centric part of my brain that thinks, At least we’ll get a lot of airtime this episode.
We take our first steps around the corner. The camera drone goes first, then me, then Yumi follows, her entire body tensing. The path narrows to a ledge, forcing us to shimmy along sideways, our bodies clinging to the mountain face. Below us, the valley opens up—a dizzying expanse of green.
“Don’t look down,” I say, immediately regretting it. Telling someone not to look down is practically begging them to look down.
“Too late,” Yumi whispers, her voice tight. Her knuckles are white where she grips the cable. “Oh God, oh God, oh God. Oh my God. I can’t do this, Noelle,” she grits out, shutting her eyes tight.
“Okay. Hold on.” I look around. There’s only one way I can think to help her. “Can I try to talk you through this? You don’t have to look. Just listen to my voice and feel for the rungs with your feet. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she whispers, so quietly I almost don’t hear it over the wind.
Something warm blooms in my chest. “Okay.” I position myself slightly ahead of her, close enough that I can reach back if needed. “Slide your right foot about six inches to the right. There’s a solid iron rung there.”
She does as instructed, her movements stiff but determined.
“Now your left hand. There’s another grip, right above where you’re holding.”
I can almost hear the dramatic music they’ll overlay in postproduction. The audience will eat this up—the terrified contestant pushing through her fears, guided by her supportive partner. It’s reality TV gold.
“You’re doing great,” I say. “Keep going.”
We continue, one excruciating step after another. The via ferrata curves around the mountain face, sometimes offering wider footholds, sometimes nothing but tiny metal pegs jutting from sheer rock. Through it all, Yumi keeps her eyes shut tight, following my instructions slowly but never stopping.
Finally, I see solid ground, the point where the via ferrata meets terra firma.
“All right, Yums, we’re almost there. I can see the end. Just a few more steps.”
“Don’t lie to me,” she warns, eyes still firmly shut.
“I would never. Not about this.” I reach my hand back to brush her arm. “Twenty more feet, max.”
The drone circles us, watching as we inch closer to the end of the course. This whole ordeal has probably made production’s day.
“Ten more feet,” I announce. “The ground is completely flat ahead.”
She nods tightly, jaw clenched.
When my feet finally touch land, I resist the urge to celebrate. Instead, I position myself directly in front of Yumi, within arm’s reach.
“Last step, and you’re there. I promise. Trust me one more time.”
Yumi steps forward, her foot connecting with solid ground. Her eyes fly open, and the relief on her face is so intense it might as well be physical. She stumbles forward and I catch her, pulling her into me. She practically collapses against my chest.
“I did it,” she says into my shoulder. “Oh my God, dude. I can’t believe I did it.”
“I can,” I whisper back.
The tension drains from her body by degrees. I can feel her heartbeat slowing, her breathing evening out. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are wet, but she’s grinning.
You were amazing, I mouth, turning away from the cameras. Just for her.
“We,” she corrects out loud, squeezing my hand. “Thank you.”
Production signals for us to move along so they can set up for the next team. I keep my arm around Yumi’s waist as we walk toward the interview area. Her legs are still a bit wobbly.
“How long did that take?” she asks.
I check my watch. “About forty minutes.”
She groans. “We’re definitely getting eliminated.”
“But you just did something you never thought you could do.”
“Oh my God, stop!” She covers her face with her hands, but I can see her smile peeking through her fingers. “You’re being so cheesy right now.”
“I mean it, though.”
“I know you do. That’s why it’s so embarrassing.”
I laugh. Because there she is again. My person.