We've all had great and memorable roller coaster rides - hopefully. But sometimes, the worst rides can make for better stories. So, here's a place to share your best of the worst rides you've ever had. It's obviously not a competition, because if it was, Fabio would win. 
Mine begins on an unseasonably hot summer day in Valencia, CA at Six Flags Magic Mountain. If you've never been, you need to go. X2 is great and Tatsu is the reason why flyers are in vogue. Caveat: Skip Goliath. Just after eating overpriced mediocrity better known as lunch at the Mooseburger Lodge (not all amusement park food can be BGW food), my family and I headed over to Goliath, that ugly Miami orange coaster that looms 235 feet over the parking lot. I love hypercoasters, but I soon found out that this was no Apollo's Chariot. Sure, plummeting 25.5 stories at 85 is great fun, but after traversing airless hills and coming to an awkward block brake setup, I was seriously considering that Goliath was much worse than it looked. Then, the layout changed its mind and decided to become a twister coaster, which I was alright with; obviously the airtime thing wasn't working out well anyway. We careened straight towards the double helix finale and I was set for some intense g-forces. And were they ever intense. I loved it. The pressure making my cheeks flush up against my face. I anticipated the end of the helix and the subsequent ceasing of the weight of the world on my head, but it failed to end. Spinning, dizzying around in circles we went. Beads of sweat broke across my brow. My breath shortened and my head began to throb. My arms dropped from the sky - a good indicator that something was wrong. Bobbing my head in circles like I belonged in some distant and deranged institution, the sight of the tracked blurred before me. Then, I realized I had no peripheral vision and the horrendous color scheme of Goliath faded to grayscale in a matter of seconds. By this time, I was convinced that I had unintentionally offended my waitress at the Mooseburger and she irrationally countered by slipping roofies in my root beer. But alas, that was not the case. My brain pulsed with the pain of the G's as my mother and little sister sat behind me, oblivious to my injury and somehow enjoying the ride. Then, my grayscale world grew darker and darker as it converged to black on some imaginary central axis, and suddenly, the train mercifully plowed through the brake run and I was overjoyed by the sight of a coaster color scheme chosen by a Floridian nightclub. Surprisingly, the headache subsided after about fifteen minutes and I was enjoying rides again in almost no time. Then I experienced my worst ride ever... (To Be Continued)
Mine begins on an unseasonably hot summer day in Valencia, CA at Six Flags Magic Mountain. If you've never been, you need to go. X2 is great and Tatsu is the reason why flyers are in vogue. Caveat: Skip Goliath. Just after eating overpriced mediocrity better known as lunch at the Mooseburger Lodge (not all amusement park food can be BGW food), my family and I headed over to Goliath, that ugly Miami orange coaster that looms 235 feet over the parking lot. I love hypercoasters, but I soon found out that this was no Apollo's Chariot. Sure, plummeting 25.5 stories at 85 is great fun, but after traversing airless hills and coming to an awkward block brake setup, I was seriously considering that Goliath was much worse than it looked. Then, the layout changed its mind and decided to become a twister coaster, which I was alright with; obviously the airtime thing wasn't working out well anyway. We careened straight towards the double helix finale and I was set for some intense g-forces. And were they ever intense. I loved it. The pressure making my cheeks flush up against my face. I anticipated the end of the helix and the subsequent ceasing of the weight of the world on my head, but it failed to end. Spinning, dizzying around in circles we went. Beads of sweat broke across my brow. My breath shortened and my head began to throb. My arms dropped from the sky - a good indicator that something was wrong. Bobbing my head in circles like I belonged in some distant and deranged institution, the sight of the tracked blurred before me. Then, I realized I had no peripheral vision and the horrendous color scheme of Goliath faded to grayscale in a matter of seconds. By this time, I was convinced that I had unintentionally offended my waitress at the Mooseburger and she irrationally countered by slipping roofies in my root beer. But alas, that was not the case. My brain pulsed with the pain of the G's as my mother and little sister sat behind me, oblivious to my injury and somehow enjoying the ride. Then, my grayscale world grew darker and darker as it converged to black on some imaginary central axis, and suddenly, the train mercifully plowed through the brake run and I was overjoyed by the sight of a coaster color scheme chosen by a Floridian nightclub. Surprisingly, the headache subsided after about fifteen minutes and I was enjoying rides again in almost no time. Then I experienced my worst ride ever... (To Be Continued)
