The thrill factor.

When someone mentions “thrill” a few things come to mind. First, I think of my fear of the Michael Jackson “Thriller” music video. Yes, I still sleep with all my doors closed. And yes, my theory remains that since he died, the likelihood of his ghost finding me surpasses the previous fear of him locating me when he still moonwalked the earth. The next thought brings forward my nerdy side. Listening for a thrill with your stethoscope on a patient with a fistula. See, I paid attention in nursing school. But mostly I relate thrill to doing things that are completely and utterly, well, ludicrous. For instance, roller coasters. Here goes. So last weekend I tagged along with some of my coworkers and their families to Silverwood, the Northwest’s largest amusement park. It’s located in northern Idaho and you can’t miss it. Seriously. As you escape from Couer d’Alene and travel north, green pines and other tree species (a rare sight these days) line the mountain sides which are neighbored by grassy fields. Then, as you approach an Athol (Pun. Cue laugh.) and make your way around the bend, random as a bison in the middle of Times Square, there’s an amusement park. Fashioned with roller coasters and kiddy rides galore, it’s the last thing you’d expect to see...at least it was for me. Thinking back to trips to Six Flags or Disney World, the anticipation to arriving usually results in a “Whoa, look at all the rides!” when it comes into sight. With Silverwood, it’s a different “whoa” factor. It’s more along the lines of, “Whoa, am I hallucinating or is there seriously an amusement park in the middle of the forest?” My reaction exactly. Once again patience seemed to be the quality of the day, like most days, when we arrived. We had to wait for just about everything. Wait to get into the park. Wait to get into the actual park. Wait in line to go on the rides. Wait for your brain to return to your head after a roller coaster. Good thing I’m used to this by now. Our first adventure began on the kids rides so Michele’s son, Cayden, could see what the “big park” was all about. Paired up, me with Michele and Cayden with Steph (Michele’s friend), we rode the ferris wheel. Now, I believe the last time I went on a ferris wheel brings me back to Story Land or Santa’s Village in New Hampshire… and I sure don’t remember it being so traumatizing. Don’t get me wrong, the view was nothing to complain about. However, the whole swaying in the air in a metal box thing certainly did not excite me. Poor Michele. This simply only began a sequence of bad ‘thrills’. After Cayden piloted the helicopters, conducted the train, and sprinted through the giant treehouse, Jeff (my site supervisor) and Shannon (our hospital’s CFO) babysat him for a bit while Michele, Steph, and I went on the big kid rides. I should have stuck with those. The first ride, tremors, left me with my brain rattling for a good 10 minutes after the ride. This rackety wooden roller coaster not only whips through turns and plunges into the depths of an underground tunnel (which I did not anticipate dropping THAT much), but shakes your body around like a house in a windstorm. I could barely catch my breath as we walked away. Disclaimer: I have never been a wimp about roller coasters before in my life. I loved them as a kid! Not sure what happened since… Anyways, repeating, or maybe convincing myself, that “life’s about the experience” I decided to join Michele and Steph on the “aftershock” which makes a cliff hanger quite literal. As we approached the line, not far behind was Shannon and Jeff’s son, Tyson. Together we waited and shared the interesting experience of this couple in front of us dancing, as in a dance routine.  Perplexed by the situation, we stood back as to not interrupt their rhythm and observed. Interesting… After some time, my fate had arrived. Anxiety rising and breathing faster, I strapped myself in. I pulled the seat belt as tight as possible and ensured the harness would not let me budge more than a few centimeters. “Why do I do this to myself?” I thought out loud. Laughter from my fellow daredevils followed. Before I could catch my breath, we began to move… backwards. You know those scenes in scary movies when they start playing that eery music and you anticipate something popping out and when it does, you scream and spill popcorn everywhere? Yeah, that’s basically what happened except I had no popcorn. Making our ascent backwards, the clicking of whatever pulley system replicated that horror film music thus resulting in my repetition of the phrase, “I don’t like this game!” Michele’s response? “30 seconds! It’s only 30 seconds!”  Laughter from Steph and Tyson came from behind. Like I mentioned before, as a kid these rides gave me such a thrill. I couldn’t wait to go on them when we got to Universal Studios. And I’d even ride those high intensity coasters as many times as possible. Apparently age has demolished my ability to handle these extremes. Well, 30 seconds felt like 30 days, and after all the corkscrew turns, my fate in the strength of a harness, and constant screaming of profanities, it was over. Finally. Catching my breathe and ready to get out, of course had to make me suffer more and remained locked an extra minute while everyone else hopped out of their seats. Go figure. At this point it was time to meet the rest of our group for lunch, and our stomachs were telling us so. After filling up on a BBQ-esque buffet, one last ride remained -- the panic plunge. At first, I declined and decided to watch Cayden instead. Good excuse, I know. This ride pulls you up to about 140 feet and then drops before catching you (at least you hope) at the bottom. They say at a speed of 47 mph. Yikes. Compiling the nerve, and possibly my youth bursting through, I figured, “What the hell. Its only 30 seconds.” So I went on with Steph. Well, that 30 seconds I thought it would last felt more like 10 hours when they began lifting you up. You think you’re at the top then, just kidding! You’re still suffering until suddenly, DINK! Drop! Now, most people have never heard me scream. I don’t even think I’ve heard me scream. I screamed like a little girl being chased by a pack of boys with dodgeballs. Afterwards, my throat hurt like when you go to a concert and try singing louder than the speakers to every lyric to each song.  Needless to say, at this point we were all thrilled out. And for me, I think I reached my quota of amusement parks for another 10 years.