A new roller coaster recently opened at Six Flags Great America. It's called the Goliath (shown above), and it features a first drop that's nearly straight down, as well as some inversions, one of which apparently makes riders feel weightless. It's opening with a lot of fanfare, as it's the newest and scariest thing in the roller coaster wars. I'll have to settle for watching the online videos for now, as the line probably stretches on for hours, but I did have my own Goliath when I was a kid.
Water had frequently given me trouble as a little guy, going back to when I was really tiny and thought that I was going to follow the water down the drain in the bathtub. My first solo swimming lesson was a terrifying experience. As I made my way out of the locker room at Pulaski High School, I saw the water in the shallow end and immediately thought that I would drown if I jumped in.
I'd eventually get over the swimming lesson anxiety (a few years later, I was one of only two in my class to pass the higher level "Swimmer" class). As a little kid, though, I did have a summer nemesis. It was a metal water slide perched menacingly in the shallow end of the McCarty Park pool. It taunted me when I came out of the locker room, and I thought maybe my parents would forget about it and I could just have fun in the water. No such luck, though. Each time, I had to go down the slide.
I would muster up some courage and look up at the slide. It seemed to stretch into the sky. I'd put one foot on the bottom step, and then climb up, knees wobbling slightly, one foot at a time. I must have looked ridiculous, but I didn't care. The steps were treacherous to me, as they were slippery and spaced far enough apart that I felt compelled to one-foot them instead of climbing. By the time I was near the top, my fear of heights kicked in and I'd cling to the sides before whooshing down into the water. Success! Time for an ice cream sandwich (which, for some reason tasted best next to the pool).
I haven't totally lost the nerves around rides. Two years ago, Sarah and I went to the Wilderness Resort in Wisconsin Dells. It was February, so in addition to the wave pool and lazy river, we tried out all the indoor slides. Indoor waterparks tend to build up and not out, so as to maximize space, so I'd get a little shot of nerves here and there climbing up the stairs. For the most part, the slides were really fun, but storm clouds began to gather in the Klondike Kavern, where the Hurricane awaited.
The Hurricane was a regular slide, for the most part, but instead of a last drop to safety, it drops riders into a funnel, where they go up and down the sides until finally exiting the ride. It was also accompanied in true theme-park style by fake weather reports and flashing lights. The butterflies were back, and I think they were a result of me flashing back to infanthood and my fear of circling the drain. Being in my early thirties, I wasn't going to let some nerves get in my way. It was a water slide. What was the worst that could happen?
Oh, I don't know, me screaming "I HATE THIS THING" loud enough for the entire waterpark to hear as we were flying up the side of the funnel and thinking we'd fly off our slide and fall to serious injury or death. It's just one of those in-the-moment things. Same thing happened to my mom when I was a little kid and we were on a ride at a church festival. I think she thought it was just going to be a gentle ride up in the sky, but after we shot up and over the grounds pretty quickly, she was screaming for the operator to stop the ride. The thrill, though, is the point of the ride, and conquering fears and anxieties is a thrill. Not only did I survive The Hurricane, I wanted to go again.
Similarly, twenty or so years ago, in one fearless and slightly drizzly half hour, I rode both Iron Wolf (a stand up roller coaster) and the scariest ride I'd ever seen, the Shock Wave (below), with its terrifying drop and seven loops. I felt invincible (and also slightly queasy) after exiting the Shock Wave, another victory under my belt, and I'm sure if Goliath existed back then, I would have turned and pointed in its direction, ready to scream my bloody head off yet again.
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