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ROLLER COASTERS
ARE FOR WEENIES |
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"Let’s stop at Magic Mountain, let’s
stop at Magic Mountain!!!!"
The cries came from the back seat of my car as we
were driving down Interstate 5 a couple of weeks ago on our way to a
Spring Break vacation in the desert. It was late in the day, and the
whining, pleading and begging was working wonders.
"All right, all right," responded my
18-year-old son, who happened to be driving. "We’ll stop, but you
have to promise to be good."
"I promise," I replied as I tousled the hair
of his 16-year-old brother, who was in the passenger seat and then
playfully elbowed their best friend, who was sitting next to me. "You
guys are the best."
My wife and daughters were somewhere above us, speeding
by in an airplane on their way to the desert. This was a boy’s road
trip, and since amusement parks have no allure for those snobby girls,
this was our chance to stop at Six Flags Magic Mountain, just north of Los
Angeles.
We pulled into the parking lot at 7:00 in the evening,
knowing the park closed at 10:00. That left us three hours to do it all.
Since I hadn’t been to an amusement park in about 10 years, that seemed
like plenty of time. And surely we would qualify for the night rate
discount.
"I’m sorry, we don’t have a night
rate," said the woman in the window. "It’s $59.95 per person,
no matter what time you come in."
"However," she added, "we
have a special going on where you can buy a season pass for $59.95."
That was interesting. I had a choice. I could pay
$59.95 for three hours, or pay $59.95 for, let’s see, about 210 days. I
peered through the gates and noticed a line snaking outside of a fast food
place and stretching another 30 feet.
"What are those people waiting in line for?"
I asked the ticket seller.
"Funnel cakes."
"We’ll take the one-day pass, please."
"Are you sure?" she asked, convinced I
was lacking the financial acumen to analyze the savings. "It only
requires taking a photo."
A very large woman walked by with a funnel cake
topped with the most amazing concoction of garbage I’d ever seen.
"I’m sure," I said.
We entered the gates and I instructed the boys to take
off, knowing they had only 3 hours to amortize their $59.95 per person
investment. I’d catch up with them later, once they got their thrill
from the thrill rides.
I simply wandered around, fascinated by the amusement
park world. It is the ultimate in people-watching. The carnival crowd is
alive and well, and apparently thriving. It’s a slice of Americana, and
if they sold beer (which they don’t) I would have had one to celebrate
diversity.
Then there’s the lines. I have a problem with the
lines, but the carnival crowd apparently doesn’t. One of the newer
thrill rides had a line that stretched hundreds of feet. No one was
moving. It looked like the Night of the Living Dead. I walked up to the
exit of the ride and asked a beaming, tank-topped, gap-toothed older woman
and her daughter how long they had waited.
"About two hours," she replied, beaming.
"But honey, it was sooooo worth it. That ride was awesome!!"
Later, I learned from an attendant that on busy days
(apparently this was a slow day) the waits for the popular rides are about
four hours. For a ride that lasts approximately two minutes.
I ran into the boys at around 9:00. They had amortized
well, finding a couple of less-popular rides where the wait was only 30
minutes. But their work wasn’t done—they were determined to put me on
a roller coaster.
Rumor had it that the "Goliath" didn’t have
a line, so we headed over there. I was hoping for a four hour wait, but we
walked right up to it. One look at the way everyone was strapped in, their
feet dangling, and I opted out. I was called a wimp, a sissy, a baby—all
kinds of things. And that was by the 10-year-old girl behind me in the
short line. The boys were much tougher on me. I had to do something.
"You want death-defying," I announced as I
headed for the exit. "I’ll show you death-defying."
"Where are you going?"
I gave them a casual toss of the head. "I’m
going to buy one of those funnel cakes, with all the toppings."
Now that’s scary. |
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