Not sure what you’re after, but am sure this contribution doesn’t matter. Back when I was a cold war kid and people built bomb shelters in their basements and didn’t have golf carts, there was funicular railroad, a platform on a cable and rails, really, at the 9-hole country club where my family had a membership (Blue Lakes). It ran folks up the hill from the 6th green to 7th tee. My friends and I didn’t golf, but we wasted our youth exploring all of the wild areas around the course, so, of course, when we ended up at the base of hill where it was, we happily caught a lift. We didn’t worry about safety. If it broke, we’d just jump off, as we jumped on and off it many times because we could. It’s long gone now. Yet, every time I see where it was, I remember it fondly and vividly. I have a vague memory of getting in trouble over it, but the details escape me now. Hell, we got in trouble over everything. The game began when somebody told us we couldn’t do something. And outside of the maintained areas we were the Masters of the Universe. Nobody could find us if we wanted to hide.