I spent the entire day yesterday at Six Flags Great America.
First a note of great sadness for absent friends, both those near and far to Wisconsin, who couldn't make it. We shall have to do similarly silly things another time. Soon.
Now, on to the best of it.
Thesis statement: Roller coasters may not be better than sex, but the best ones are damn close.
Argument:
1. Riding the American Eagle (standard wooden roller coaster, backwards and forwards tracks) backwards in the very last seat, so all you see are the tracks wooshing out in front of you.
2. Getting my head smacked around in the Iron Wolf standing ride. Not overall good.
3. Being a scared little wussy girl and not riding the Superman ride, which suspends you and has you going headfirst--a la Superman, duh--through many loops. I don't like resting all my weight on my chest or on the harness. Just don't like it.
4. Riding the Raging Bull twice. Twice. Twice. Yes! Yes! The longest drop in the park, the longest RIDE in the park, and the best spins and turns possible. So very very good. And the second time we rode it was at night.
5. Lines that are less than fortyfive minutes make everything better.
6. Did I mention we rode the Raging Bull twice?
Corollaries:
A. Funnel cakes.
B. Caramel apples.
C. Churros.
D. Sodee-pop.
In conclusion: Roller coasters make me very very happy. I must now conserve my neck and back such that I can ride them until I am eighty.
Discuss.