Those Roller Rides in the Sky

By B.J. Phillips

A great rushing, rhythmic, onomatopoeic piece of machinery, the roller coaster distills our emotions and describes our physical boundaries. The achingly slow climb to the top, the high-speed plunge to the bottom; a moment of weightlessness at the crest; an instant of contorting heaviness from the G force in the valley; terrified anticipation when it begins, and grateful relief at the end.

No one is quite certain why careening through turns and careering down heart-stopping hills hold such a strong attraction for otherwise sane human beings. Some psychologists have suggested that riding a roller coaster is a form of rebellion against smother love and all its safety, a final plunge to freedom from childhood dependency. Others theorize latent death wishes or the need to act out and exorcise fears. For some, the motivation is simpler. Two years after he crossed the Atlantic, Charles Lindbergh took a spin on the Coney Island Cyclone, one of the oldest roller coasters still in operation (it is celebrating its 50th anniversary this summer). Later, he testified: "A ride on Cyclone is a greater thrill speed." After half a century, the thrill --and the terror--of the Cyclone and its more modern counterparts has not diminished.

Roller coasters come in two distinct species: wooden and metal. The wooden coasters, contemporary versions of rides of old, are strong, flexible and durable, but they look rickety, thus adding to the terror. Their clacking and creaking are built in, and serve to heighten the sensation of speed.

Wooden coasters feature careful pacing (a moment's hesitation at the top so that riders can stare into the abyss) and a studied mix of hills large and small, curves wrenching and free-floating.

Each of the wooden coasters has a distinct personality. The Texas Cyclone at Houston's Astroworld is patterned on the Coney Island Cyclone. "It's just a little bigger and a little faster-- Texas style," says a proud park official. But it retains the original Cyclone's sheer drops: the first of them, a devastating 53DEG plunge, bottoms out 92 ft. below the crest. Riders have lost wigs and false teeth in the 60-m.p.h. near freefall. St. Louis' Six Flags boasts the Screamin' Eagle; No. 1 in the Guinness Book of World Records, it is the longest, fastest, highest coaster. Its hills are less precipitous-- 45DEG to 50DEG-- but it features a series of close-set hills that repeatedly , flash passengers from zero G to 2.75 Gs. Other great wooden coasters include the Great American Scream Machine near Atlanta and the Twin Racer at Kings Island, near Cincinnati. The Scream Machine whirls above the glassy surface of a lagoon, providing a view that is as much a part of the ride as the terrifying dips and turns. The Twin Racer--like the Rebel Yell near Richmond--has graceful dual tracks for competing cars.

The metal roller coaster draws its inspiration from the aerospace industry. "We take great precautions to ensure that the biomechanical aspects of the rides are within the limits a rider can endure," says Terry Brown, vice president of Arrow Development Co. "We check each ride with instruments. The computer tells us about velocity, centrifugal forces and stresses."

Metal rides are smooth and quiet. They are also laced with corkscrew turns and, in some instances, huge loops. The supporting structure is made entirely of steel, and the vehicles resemble space shuttles, not carny cars. On the convoluted tracks of the metal coasters, the question is quite basic: Where am I?

When the passengers are turned upside down, as in the double spiral of the Python at Busch Gardens in Tampa, Fla., the old saw "My heart was in my throat" is hardly appropriate: the feet are where the throat ought to be. As for the heart --it is on its own. Most unnerving of all are the giant loops on such rides as the Screamin' Demon at Kings Island, the Turn of the Century at Great America near San Francisco, and King Kobra at Richmond's Kings Dominion.

The force exerted on passengers speeding around a 90-ft.-high loop reaches more than 3 Gs--enough to make a test pilot blanch. Since the big loops are generally on a track that deadends, riders have to repeat the entire process backward to return to the loading ramp. Traveling backward is foreign to people in a straightforward world, and there is considerable disorientation in whipping through a loop at high speed in reverse. The most hardened roller-coaster freak can climb out of a giant loop with wobbly knees and churning stomach.

Which rides are better? As in all things, it is a matter of taste. Loops and corkscrews probably offer the rawest thrills--unadorned, mind-bending, stomach-stretching terror. Sans a 360DEG turnover, however, metal coasters are somewhat tame--too quiet and too smooth, and lacking the wooden coaster's capacity to engage the eye and the ear. Riding a wooden roller coaster is like barnstorming in a biplane; a trip in a metal coaster is like flying to Cleveland in a jumbo jet. Both will take you where you want to go--a little bit out of your mind with fear and fun--but only in a wooden coaster are you certain that you have flown. B.J. Phillips

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