Aside from the fact that I enjoy studying the period around John Allen and his coasters, I have a very personal reason why I choose to research him.  He designed the Screamin' Eagle, the first roller coaster upon which I conquered my fear of  coasters and became an addict.  My experience as an enthusiast was a bit different than others in that I loved and studied coasters growing up- I just did not like to ride them. As a kid I got Inside Track, read and re-read Gary Kyriazi's book The Great American Amusement Parks, studied the article by George Plimpton in Popular Mechanics and went on the Mine Train at Six Flags over Mid America.  But, I could never force myself to head over to the park's "big boys": the Screamin' Eagle and Jet Scream.   

This picture of the Screamin' Eagle was taken when I did not ride (circa 1990).

          It was on my 13th birthday that I finally got the nerve to ride my first coaster. My parents took my sister, myself and several of our friends to Six Flags for our birthdays (two years and three days apart).  The night was drawing to a close and for some reason I said to my friend, "let's go on the Screamin' Eagle." After I said it I knew there was no turning back, so I walked across half of the park with a knot in my stomach. We walked by the wooden eagle, wings open...a point I had never approached before- let alone past.

          The line was short, so we had to make little small talk as we inched up the coasters unusual queue line. On one hand, the line seemed to go VERY fast, inching us ever-closer to the P.T.C. trains...on the other, it also moved slow and felt like it took forever to get up to the gates. The loud clack of the fin brakes unnerved me every time they slapped together, the roar of the train and shaking of the station never let me forget why I was there.

          Finally we moved up to the gates. Knowing coasters as I did, I made sure that we sat in the middle where the forces would be the least. The train in front of us emptied, the gates hissed, opened and I forced myself to step in. The gates closed and I pulled the orange lap bar tight around my waist. A hiss, and were off.

          The train gently rolled out of the station and we engaged the lift. The lift hill was probably the worst part of the ride as I (a person who is DEATHLY afraid of heights) watched the earth slowly fade away. The din of the games and rides below was drowned out by the rhythmic, mechanical clacking of the anti-rollbacks. The tracer lights on my side kept blinking past...little did I know I would soon be flying by them.

          The train disengaged from the lift and slowly went around the devilishly clever swoop curve that allowed everyone to see the entire layout before we plunged down the seemingly endless first drop.

          I remember very little after my body went down the drop and my stomach stayed at the end of the swoop curve. In my head I can see the large third drop, the fun double-up-like element right before the last curve...but what I remember most were the tracer lights as they danced around the train like so many fireflies on a balmy summer night.

          As soon as we hit the brake run, I knew I wanted another ride a.s.a.p., but more importantly I felt that for some reason these rides design to terrify humans would almost always be a part of my existence.  I still thank John for that great ride so many summers ago- he helped forge who I am today.

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Adam Sandy, Copyright 2001.