“You’re up next. Do you want to do the wet one or the dry one?” David asked me while helping my wife, Karen, out of a giant plastic ball.
I was about to go Zorbing, a bizarre experience invented in New Zealand, the proud home of many dubious activities such as bungee jumping, and the town of Rotorua on the nation’s North Island is one of the few places in the world where you can try it.
From a distance, a Zorb looks like a huge, translucent plastic beach ball about 12 feet in diameter. On closer inspection, you notice a smaller concentric sphere inside the larger one with about half the diameter.
Cords radiate from the smaller ball out to the larger, and the rest of the space between the two orbs is inflated with air. A narrow tube enables a person to enter the inner sphere; and once inside, walking or leaning on the curving walls will cause the whole ball to roll.
A person running and spinning around inside the Zorb ends up looking like a gigantic hamster in one of those clear plastic sphere toys.
Originally, David’s brother and his engineering buddy made the Zorb because they wanted to find a way to walk on water. Apparently they succeeded, but then they tried to devise more spirited ways to utilize their creation and milk money from the curious. This resulted in the “dry” and “wet” Zorbs. Both of these techniques involved riding inside a Zorb down a hill for about 500 feet.
Although both Zorb activities required a hill, the “dry” and the “wet” experiences differed considerably.
With the dry Zorb, the rider climbed into the inner sphere, buckled his waist down, grabbed onto some mounted handles, and spun down the hill in that secured position, his body flipping and flopping around with every revolution. In contrast, when using the wet Zorb, the rider squeezed in, filled the interior with several inches of water, plugged the opening with a rubber ball, and splashed all the way to the bottom like a big water slide.
The beautifully sunny, warm weather had persuaded Karen and me to try the wet Zorb rather than the dry that day. From the top, the grassy hill sloped steeply and gradually flattened out into a field mined with sheep droppings. The sides of the area were fenced off from sheep pastures, and inquisitive animals occasionally took a break from their busy schedule to watch what the silly humans were up to.
While Karen, dried off after her ride, waited at the bottom to take pictures, David and I loaded the giant bubble into his specially made trailer and chugged up to the flat top of the hill in his truck.
We plopped the Zorb into a small three-sided corral that prevented the ball from rolling anywhere but downhill, and I got ready to enter the sphere.
The smooth exterior felt just like an inflated beach ball with thicker skin, and once I squeezed through the vinyl birth canal to the inner womb, I found myself on the inside of a huge spherical air mattress. My hands and feet rubbed against the seamless plastic surface, producing high-pitched squeaks that reverberated through the empty boundary between the inner and outer walls. I could see fuzzy swaths of green ground and blue sky, but the milky fog of the plastic barrier blurred all details of the outside world except for the hundreds of spokes connecting the inner and outer shells. In addition to refracting light, my semi-clear surroundings acted as an efficient greenhouse, heating up the small chamber in which I stood. The result was like a sauna, and I instantly broke into a sweat while gasping on the heavy steam.
David quickly came to my rescue with a sudden spray of shockingly cold water as he filled the interior with five or six inches of relief. He then shoved a rubber plug slightly larger than a basketball into the entryway so the water would not spill out when the Zorb rotated. Now I was all set to go.
With David giving the green light, I tentatively leaned against the wall and felt the Zorb roll forward slightly under my weight. Thus encouraged, I somersaulted into the wall and slid into the refreshing pool at the bottom of the orb causing the giant ball to start moving slowly toward the edge of the hill’s slope. A couple more enthusiastic tumbles, and I started to pick up speed.
Maniacally, I continued to heave myself against the shell, slip down the concave surface, and regain my balance in mid-slide just enough to launch myself toward the far wall again. Three or four of these wild cyclical tumbles coated the interior of the sphere with water and the Zorb started to zip down the steep part of the hill.
I could no longer gain footing for my leaps, so the force of the rotation pitched me face up in the puddle at the bottom, and I lay there sliding on the smooth plastic surface helplessly watching the world spin faster and faster around me. Black shafts of cord whizzed about before a background of blue and green, and the frenzied slosh of water amplified throughout the tiny space.
I felt completely out of control, unable to sit or even see where I was going while my back heated up from friction generated by the rapidly revolving orb. Excitingly uncomfortable, the sense of helplessness did not last long, and I careened down the hill for a few more moments before the slope leveled out and the ball spent its momentum.
As the Zorb slowed down, I tentatively tried to regain my balance and stand on my feet. A bit wobbly at first, I spotted Karen off to the side and playfully tried to chase her down with my personal boulder.
David traveled back down the hill to pull the plug on our fun, and I popped out of the Zorb head first, born again. Drying myself off, I excitedly thought of many ways this enterprise could be expanded. Imagine catapults flinging plastic spheres through the air, orbs bounding off jumps into water, obstacle courses, and silly family or corporate team building races. Unfortunately, before we could collaborate, the Zorbmeister went off to take care of the next in line, and I missed my chance for a piece of the Zorb kingdom.
“So, was that enough or do you want to try the dry Zorb?” Karen asked when I finished.
“Hmm . . . the wet one was good enough so I don’t need to do the dry. But I think there is something else we should do.”
“What’s that?”
“I think we need a video of the Zorb rolling over one of us on its way down the hill.”
“Great idea!” she laughed. “I’ll film you.”
IF YOU GO
– INFORMATION
Price for wet or dry run: About $18 U.S. To ensure an opportunity to Zorb, contact Zorb Rotorua by phone (011-64-7-332-2768) or e-mail (zorb@zorb.com). However, usually there is no need to book a spot far in advance. We showed up without a reservation and waited only 10 minutes.
Zorb is expanding with several brand new franchises in Europe but none in the United States yet. See their Web site (www.zorb.com) for the latest information.
