I'm freeeeeeeeee...free fallin'

I love theme parks. I didn't always much appreciate them; for many years I had this irrational fear of streaking straight down at 90 miles per hour in a vehicle designed by engineers not currently riding in it. Luckily, at Cedar Point I overcame this entirely groundless phobia long enough to discover I actually like roller coasters. I think that the lawn mowing I did over the summer finally killed off enough brain cells. Let us examine the theme park experience.

Step One: Travel

There are plenty of ways to die interestingly in Anytown, USA, but go ahead and travel a few hundred miles to visit Cedar Point. This way, you get to pay gas money to countries like Saudi Arabia and United Arab Emirates, helping their struggling economies. In Dubhai the number of indoor ski slopes per capita has fallen to below 3.4, resulting in, well, I don't know what. At the end of the journey, you are faced with another opportunity to discard the bits of green paper you've been accumulating. This time, you shell out 100 bucks a night at a Super 8 twenty miles from the park. Most horrifying, you feel fortunate to have secured this rate. Perhaps this is because it pales in comparison to:

Step Two: Admission

Roller coasters are just barely visible over the horizon as you are directed to the nearest available parking space. Most parks have parking lots that make Kansas look positively cramped. Last year more people starved to death lost in parking lots outside Cedar Point than in all the world's natural deserts combined. Haggard and weary, you reach the gate only to be asked to surrender any and all cash you might be carrying. 401(k)s might also be confiscated. Decurrencied and searched to make sure you aren't smuggling food into the park, you are free to enjoy the wonder, fear, adrenaline, and pure joy of:

Step Three: Lines

If set end to end, the lines at Cedar Point would wrap around Rosie O'Donnell and Al Gore combined. We waited nearly two hours for one ride even though we went on two of the slower days of the season. Even more ferocious than the length of the lines are their contents. Horrifying as it may sound, these lines of composed of living human beings, among the strangest elements in the known universe. The denizens of lines provide great entertainment, but more than once I felt like calling for security and, on rather more occasions, the CDC. In line for the Maverick (a coaster more fun the Sarah Palin in a Gander Mountain without security cameras), we got to listen, for an hour and a half, to iPod Man. I should clarify; iPod Man is in no way associated with Apple Computers. I think he might be associated with the clinical trial of an inhibition-lowering drug that works a bit too well. For ninety minutes he listened to his iPod, happily belting out the lyrics at random intervals. Everyone would be minding their own business, standing around and pretending they weren't contemplating making a break for it, when suddenly a voice would launch into "He Reigns" a Newsboys song of which I used to be moderately fond. In a fantasy world, everyone would have joined in and a Billy Graham-style revival would have swept Sandusky, Ohio into the New Millennium. In this world everyone looked slightly nervous and resolutely avoided eye-contact. A real shame, I think. Creepiness aside, I give this guy credit for at least being willing to show some sign of worship in public.

Step Four: Things Man Was Not Meant To Know

After the two-hour line comes the two-minute ride. The rides themselves always have vaguely ominous names. Case in point: The Corkscrew. I admit, most of the mental images that come to mind are not positive. The common corkscrew's application beyond the realm of wine bottles does not bear contemplation. I like my nasal passages the way God made them. The coaster is nowhere near as sinister as the name implies; it simply contains a corkscrew-shaped loop. Now consider the Mantis. A mantis is a bug. It's not even poisonous. So the coaster won't be too vicious, right? Well...the Mantis is a coaster on which the riders stand astride a bicycle seat-like saddle and underneath a shoulder harness. The seat ratchets up, the harness ratchets down. The problem here is fairly evident to anyone familiar with classical American humor. The harness will invariably be a bit too low and the seat a bit too high. Add four g's and the situation is suddenly not funny at all to the victim and an absolute scream to whoever is standing next to him. I'm just glad I was the guy standing next to him. And don't even get me started on Top Thrill Dragster. Too late. Hah! This ride features a line slightly longer than the total length of the track. I wonder why, because TTD consists solely of a hydraulic launch system, a 400-foot tall hill, and a few dozen foolish victims. They recommend you leave behind easily lost things like limbs before boarding.

In summary, we give up time, money, safety, and sanity to simulate falling to our deaths. It just seems to me that there is an easier way.