Yeah, that’s right, you heard me. That roller coaster, you know, the one that is the tallest fastest, nastiest ride in the world? Well, I almost expired on the spot when I saw it go tossing people around like rag dolls, but I did indeed force myself to go on that ride this past week. I went to Six Flags with family and friends, and they are all gluttons for punishment…yes you are. They love roller coasters and what can you do when you are with those that love? You have to go on the rides too.
I don’t really remember much because I think I blacked out as soon as I sat in the torture seat. Ok, so I am exaggerating. I didn’t black out, though I claim that I was in shock before, during, and after the ride and that’s how I survived. You know the high squealing freaks that go on rides and you want to slap them to shut them up? That’s me. On every roller coaster. It is my coping mechanism. Blame my grandmother who told me as a young child that if I was afraid, I should scream, and I wouldn’t feel so scared. It’s true, by the way.
Actually, after I managed to blank out the memory of crashing to the ground at unfathomable speeds, the rest of the roller coasters were fun, and I didn’t scream on them. But that’s just because I left my brain and my vocal chords somewhere 456 feet in the air, never to be seen again.
My favorite ride was Nitro. Lots of really big hills, but no fear of imminent death. And El Toro was great too, wooden, but also no fear of imminent death by car flying off of crickety wooden track. It’s a new wooden coaster that is much more secure. Um, as secure as a person can be flying around in a little metal tin can on a track that only physics can explain. I can’t fully describe my fear. However, to those of you who don’t know me, you would be shocked that I went on Kingda Ka at all.
I am mightily pleased with myself for doing it once. I can’t say as I would do it again, but who knows?