Which is exactly what the folks at Whistler-Blackcomb did when they linked the two iconic ski mountains in advance of the 2010 Vancouver Olympic and Paralympic Games. If you've ever wondered how it feels to hurtle off the end of a ski jump into the great abyss, the Peak2Peak gondola should give you a pretty good idea.

On a hot, smoky, August day, I quickly discover that riding the gondola requires a temporary suspension of belief in the laws of physics. The distance between the two peaks is monumental, and only four posts support the entire lift. At one point the cars travel 1.8 kilometres between towers. The line isn't pulled taut-instead it follows the curvature of the valley in a dizzying swoop. Everything in me screams that this just shouldn't be possible.

Like the rest of the so-called adults in the car, I squeal and smash my face to the glass the moment the gondola plunges over the cliff's edge. The cable bows out in a wide arc beneath us, the sun glints off the Cheakamus glacier, and the Fitzsimmons Creek looks like a tiny irrigation ditch 436 metres below. As if on cue, three black bears emerge from the woods, ignoring the strange metallic beasts flying overhead.

Unlike the great bridges and dams of the world, this seminal engineering marvel has no apparent function other than to delight people. And yet it's almost impossible to ride it without thinking about how the experience could kill you. My decidedly unscientific survey suggests that 100% of first-time riders utter something similar to an Australian I overheard: "Gee, I'd bloody well hate to be in this monster if the cable broke and we went flying off down the hill." Roger that, mate. The gondola is completely safe of course, with layers of redundancy and enough stability for smooth sailing in winds of up to 80 k/hour.

And yet...there's something about dangling helplessly in the air between two mountains that has a way of triggering anyone's phobias. The engineering is sound; it's just the whole idea of the thing that's insane. A few of the gondolas even have glass portals in the middle of the floor, in case anybody needs reminding of how absurd it is to travel like this. "I left my friends back at the lodge," says Lisa Press of Toronto, peering nervously out the window. "They wouldn't have been able to handle this. I'd always wanted to come to Whistler to ski but..." An American sitting nearby cuts her off-"but to die in a gondola ride would be fine too, huh?" Everyone laughs nervously. There's not going to be any dying here; the drive to Vancouver is almost certainly more dangerous.

As the cable hits its low point and reaches back skyward, we all grow silent and gaze down at the oceans of cedar, fir, and pine bristling far below. For a moment I feel not quite human, more like an eagle riding an updraft on a perfect summer afternoon. Sometimes all it takes is a few hundred thousand kilograms of cable and steel to make you feel as free as a bird.