Ninjas and Hover Boards

 

In the summer of 1989, long lines of sweltering young people waited to ride Six Flags St. Louis’ newest attraction, The Ninja. Although originally called The Scream Machine when it opened up three years before in Vancouver, British Columbia, the coaster was renamed in Missouri to distinguish it from the park’s other headliner, The Screaming Eagle.

For those familiar with both rides, you know that the two roller coasters have little in common. Whereas the Screaming Eagle is a long, wooden coaster known for thrilling passengers with relatively intense drops and raw speed, the Ninja is a tight metal ride with a variety of upside down loops.

God willing, I will never ride either of those contraptions ever again.

            And it’s not because I’m scared because I’m not.

I rode both of these coasters dozens of times over the years and I have ridden many other rides at Six Flags and other parks, too. However, the time for such clankity pursuits is likely coming to an end.

Why?

Pain, mostly.

Nausea.

Pain.

I could go on but I won’t because I’m beginning to sound like the old man from “Up.” Regardless, the risk/reward ratio involving roller coasters has finally, after decades of leveling off, flipped. These rides no longer bring me enough joyful adrenaline to justify the increasing downsides.

Besides waiting in lines, for example, almost all such amusements now make me physically ill. The tight harnesses cause claustrophobia. Then, of course, there’s the unlikely but not impossible potential for the coaster derailing, or, even worse, getting stuck upside down or buried in a cave.

No thanks.

Despite this hesitance, though, for decades I paid little attention to the decreasing “return” I earned from waiting in line and buckling up. This all changed one Christmas morning two years ago, at the end of 2020.

My son - who, perhaps needless to say, loves roller coasters - had just received an ill-conceived gift from Santa Claus himself - a hover board. After watching all three of my children quickly learn the fundamentals of the toy and then zip around the living room, kitchen, hallway, and around the basement, I decided that I, too, might as well give it a try.

This turned out to be a tremendous mistake.

Besides the fact that I am naturally clumsy, age has not been kind to my overall sense of balance. These hard truths, coupled with the even harder basement floor, shattered some misconceptions and even a bit of my left elbow. After a few days in a cast, one orthopedic surgeon gave me the option of surgery, which might fix it, I was told, or it might make it worse. A few days later, a second surgeon suggested I forgo the surgery altogether.

“Considering your mobility, I would skip the surgery. Do stretches, take it easy as far as lifting heavy objects, and, uh…stay off hover boards.”

I agreed, and it occurred to me at that very humbling moment, sitting in that surgeon’s office with the X-ray of my damaged elbow glowing nearby, that that’s it. That is really the only biological benefit to aging, isn’t it?

Knowing to stay off hover boards.

As we get older, we’re less prone to do stupid things that could kill us because we’re more fully aware of how many things can kill us. When we’re young we don’t know, or don’t care, or some combination of the two. Because of our experiences, though, we learn how much easier we are to kill, either due to cholesterol, poor balance, or the abrupt jarring from an amusement park ride.

For many years I struggled with this truth, because I wanted to like roller coasters again. I wanted to be thrilled like I did back in 1989, when I was one of those young people waiting in line at Six Flags. It made me mad that I was only riding the silly things so my kids could ride them.

But then I fell off the hover board.

And the reason I fell off the hover board is because I had no good reason to be on one in the first place. Hover boards are made for young people with quicker reflexes. They’re made for lighter people closer to the ground; people who bounce back when they fall, or at least heal quicker when they don’t.

And that’s OK. I’ve made a fractured peace with this new, much slower reality. Let them have their hover boards. Let them have their Tik Tac videos and their rolled Takis chips. I am satisfied now where I am, standing safely with both feet on the ground, looking for a chair.

And speaking of places to sit, in the winter of 2021, a full year after my hover board mishap, my family and I waited in line to ride Universal Studios’ newest Harry Potter-themed attraction, Hagrid’s Motorbike Adventure. I rode it once and enjoyed bits and pieces of it. I really enjoyed watching my kids enjoy it, however, and afterwards decided to find a bench.

“Dad! Look! The line’s not that long! Do you want to go on it again?”

“I’m good.” I replied, sitting down. “It’s your turn.”