Cecile and I just returned from a trip to Kings Island. It certainly wasn't our first trip and certainly won't be our last. We had a great time, although we didn't attack the park with the same gusto we would have 25 or even 5 years ago.
We reminisced about our trips there as children. I remember mine very well. When Kings Island opened in 1972, the media blitz was mind-boggling. If that weren't enough, The Brady Bunch actually filmed an episode there; sending every child in Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana into spasms of begging and pleading. "pleeeeeeeeeezzzzze, Dad??????????" " I will make my bed everyday, until I'm 18, 21, 25, 30! Pleeeeeeeeezzzzzzze?" Until, worn down to a nub, parents would submit to the will of their crazed off-spring. At least that's the way it worked at my house. It took two years, but my father, a World War II veteran, knew he had as much chance of winning this one as Japan had after Hiroshima. I was nothing if not persistent.
I drafted my cousin Dave, to go with me. Dave, being three years older than I, was a worldly 14 years old and would surely know the ins and outs of riding the biggest, meanest, fastest roller coaster at Kings Island: The Racer. So finally, on a hot, summer day in 1974, we arrived at the park. After depositing Mom and Dad on a bench, we were off to tackle The Racer. I must add here that my parents weren't at all daredevils. Truth be known, my dad, the purple heart decorated, World War II Staff Sargent vet, afraid of nothing man, turned pale at the thought of riding the ferris wheel, much less a roller coaster. My mom was terrified of heights, and besides, those Benson and Hedges in her purse weren't going to smoke themselves! Back to our story..... Dave and I walked down the midway and I looked up to see the towering structure of The Racer looming over the midway. "100' tall, I heard Dave say." At least I think that is what he said. I was busy trying to control my bladder and not pee down my leg and into my new Adidas tennis shoes. We entered the queues, and unlike these days, they were completely full. I had at least an hour to contemplate my impending demise. When we finally entered the station house, my life flashed before my eyes. Being 11, it didn't take long. Dave pointed to the red train and informed me that the red one was the fastest and always beat the blue train. He herded me on to the red train and we began our ascent. Like any good Episcopal boy, I crossed myself and commended my soul to my maker. Suddenly we were at the top. We seemed to hang in mid-air for a moment and then began barreling like a rocket down the hill. My scream was lost in my throat, but by the time we reached the bottom and began flying up the second hill, I was hooked. Laughing like demented maniac, I couldn't get enough.
Now, 36 years later, the thrill is still the same, although my taste runs more toward the new Diamondback roller coaster. Over twice as tall and and almost twice as fast as The Racer, it offers truly insane airtime, that wonderful floating feeling as you float out of your seat as you crest each hill. It also offers individual raised seats so that your feet do not touch the floor. There are no sides on the cars, basically just the seats perched on a rolling platform, offering a very clear view of the ground over 200 ft below.
The Racer is still there, and I still think it is great fun, but one thing is different from my trips to Kings Island as a kid......Why does EVERYTHING hurt tonight?
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