By Nick Smith
As a child, I established one rule about vacations. If there wasn’t an amusement park involved, it wasn’t a real vacation. My early memories were full of jaunts to Carowinds, Busch Gardens, and Walt Disney World; even during weekends at Myrtle Beach, when most people are trying to enjoy the sun, sand and surf, I found myself wondering why we couldn’t spend more time at the dear, departed Pavilion. So when my parents told us we were spending our yearly vacation in New York City, I was less than impressed. To my young eyes it was less a vacation and more a punishment.
But off to the Big Apple we drove for a week of museums, sidewalks, and two-story fast food joints. As this was the era before kids had cell phones (or even Game Boys), the only way to entertain myself while stuck in the car was to stare out the window; when Dad made a mistake and drove us down to the shore at Coney Island, I saw the only thing that could catch my interest. A big, gorgeous Coney Island roller coaster, standing like a sentinel just beyond the boardwalk, dwarfing the other rides that made up the small, unknown amusement park.
I begged my parents to stop.
We had other things to do, they said.
Can we come back later?
We’ll see, they said.
The gorgeous tangle of wood and steel faded in the rear window, replaced by smog and gridlock. But I made a promise to myself that, someday, I would ride it.
It would take almost 30 years to keep that promise.
Standing 85 feet above the Coney Island Boardwalk, on the corner of Surf Avenue and West 10th Street, the Coney Island Cyclone originally opened in 1927, designed by Vernon Keenan and built by contractor Harry C. Baker. A combination of steel structure and wooden track, the venerable ride has survived a lot over it’s 90 year history; in the 1960s a proposed expansion of the nearby aquarium almost saw the ride torn down, but a “Save the Cyclone” campaign successfully renewed its lease on life.
Astroland Park operated the coaster until its closure in 2008. After a few years of being directly overseen by the city, the Cyclone became a part of Luna Park when it opened in 2011; a multi-year refurbishment project saw the ride’s track rebuilt. In 1988 it was declared a New York City Landmark; a designation as National Historic Landmark followed in 1991. The American Coaster Enthusiasts awarded it ACE Coaster Classic and ACE Coaster Landmark status, one of only a handful of coasters to hold both honors.
But all the history and accolades in the world don’t describe the experience of actually boarding the ride and racing along its track. One word, however, does.
Transcendent.
Some people collect stamps, others baseball cards. I collect roller coasters. At the beginning of 2018, I had ridden 168 different roller coasters. I’m also geeky enough that I like to plan to ride certain rides to celebrate hitting anniversaries; my 100th coaster was Kingda Ka, still the world’s tallest, while my 150th was Fury 325, one of the finest steel coasters ever built.
With my 40th birthday approaching, My wife and I decided to take a trip that would rocket my count upward. Ten amusement parks, spread over two weeks. As I looked over the plan, I realized I had an opportunity to keep that promise I’d made some 30 years prior – we’d be traveling close to New York, so I scheduled a trip to Luna Park, where I’d make the Cyclone my 200th coaster.
Now the Cyclone isn’t the only Coney Island roller coaster, and I was at #196 to start the day; I had to resist my impulse to run straight for it. Thunderbolt (#197) was a thrilling surprise; on the other hand, Soarin’ Eagle (#198) was an instrument of torture. A midday thunderstorm forced us to take shelter for about an hour; there was another perilous wait for mechanics to fix The Tickler (#199). All the while, the Cyclone waited in the distance, awash in the scent of Nathan’s Hot Dogs and the screams of those riding it. I could hardly wait.
Soon enough, it was time.
I could feel the excitement building as we crossed the street from Luna Park and entered the line. The spirits of 90 years worth of fans urging you to board. Just sitting down in the train was a rush. Knowing the ride was only minutes from starting; knowing that 30 years of waiting was almost over. The ride op released the hand brake; the high-pitched hum of the polyurethane wheels and the clickety-clack of the chain dogs drowned out all other sound but the thrilled thumping of my heart as we started up the lift hill. At the 85-foot tall peak we were afforded a gorgeous view of the shimmering waters of the Atlantic…
… then it was on.
The train rushes down the drop at 58 degrees, hitting 60 mph at the base. My hands in the air, voice hoarse from screaming, and we’re just getting started. We bottom out then roar into the air, through the first of six fan turns, then a beautiful airtime hill floats us out of our seats as we curl under the lift hill.
We turn right, losing speed, a nice respite to enjoy the view of New York, then another drop. The next hill running parallel to the lift has us flying again, thighs straining against the restraints, hands tickling the sky.
We take a fast U-turn at the beach, over another airtime hill followed by a bunny hop that pops us into the air, joy rushing through our veins as I cry in surprise. A banked turn, another bunny hop, another reversal halfway down the structure, rumbling through a tunnel before the bittersweet tug of the final brakes grabs the train, bringing us into a slow, safe stop in the station, welcoming us back to a world that would never be the same.
And that was just our first ride.
All told, we’d board three more times that day, including one ride from the front (to better appreciate the view) and one from the back (to really savor that airtime). I could have gone another 25 times easily. Maybe it’s historical bias; maybe it’s the old-school Coney Island nostalgia, maybe it’s the sentimentality of it being my 200th, or maybe it’s just that damn good – but the Cyclone is easily one of the best coasters I’ve ever experienced. It may not be the flashiest, the scariest, or the most thrilling, but it’s got a heart and spirit as strong as the city it calls home.
It may have taken 30 years to keep that promise to myself, but it was worth the wait.
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