An old roller without a coaster
There comes a time when you have no desire to shake, rattle and roll
I don’t remember the first time I sat strapped in a bucket seat, with white knuckles and giddy vocal chords.
I cannot recall that first thrill-seeking moment when I longed to speed along narrow rails, spin around in circles and tumble like a pair of dice in a game of Monopoly.
I’m pretty sure it was at an amusement park in Panama City Beach, the last night of summer vacation before my dad and mom packed us in the back of the Buick station wagon and headed home. We were young, and certainly not old or tall enough for the advanced rides. But, when it’s your first experience, those kiddie rides were plenty enough.
By the time I graduated through the childhood ranks, we had moved to Atlanta in the salad days of Six Flags Over Georgia. We hopped on those log rides until we were water-logged. There was one attraction – its name escapes me now – that would spin you inside a giant barrel. The centrifugal force would pin you against the wall, and you couldn’t move your arms or legs.. You would stagger around when you got off, and even have to sit down for a few minutes to recalibrate your body. It was like having the rubber legs of a rookie sailor at sea.
And then there were the roller coasters, the signature rides. Back in those days, the Dahlonega Mine Train was the star of the show. It was so swift they had to introduce the Dahlonega Mini Mine Train for all those wimps who couldn’t handle the big boy ride.
They later rolled out the Great American Scream Machine, which was the tallest and fastest in the world at the time. From the very start, it climbed into the sky above the Cotton States lake and dropped you vertically, leaving your heart at the top of the tracks.
Every few years, it seemed, Six Flags would have to re-invent itself with another coaster, bigger and faster than the last one. There was the Mind Bender and the Viper, with their loops and swoops.
When I was in high school, I rode “The Greyhound,’’ which had nothing to do with taking the bus. It was the old, rickety wooden roller coaster at the Southeastern Fair at the Lakewood Fairgrounds in Atlanta. The Greyhound was later featured in the “Smokey and the Bandit” movies. (It was demolished as part of a scene in “Smokey and the Bandit II.”) I look back and wonder how I had the guts to climb aboard that coaster, which was built during World War I, nine years before my father was born. I was fearless, I guess.
There would come a time later in life when I found myself retreating to the sidelines, an old roller without a coaster. After we took our children to Busch Gardens, Disney, Universal Studios, Dollywood, the Georgia State Fair and Georgia National Fair, I took an early retirement, of sorts. I turned my own children loose. I’ll be waiting right here when you get off, I told them.
From that point on, I politely declined to climb aboard anything that whirled like a spin cycle on a washing machine. Been there. Done that. I once had a bout with vertigo. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
As my age advanced … and I would argue my wisdom … I refrained from the incessant clicking and whirring of sirens and horns. I reserved the right to refuse to buckle into any giant, moving machine and grant permission to flip me upside down, defy gravity and hurl me through time and space. Sorry I can no longer shake, rattle and roll, like a Little Richard song.