My First Ride
My first time having sex mirrored my first time riding the Double Loop rollercoaster at Geauga Lake amusement park in Aurora, Ohio. These two events were independent of each other and happened years apart but share many comparable aspects.
I knew about the Double Loop from catching glimpses of the action during visits to the park, scrutinizing the brochures and believing the hype on television. Still, riding it seemed like a daunting task only to be attempted by adults and risk-taking kids. I fantasized about how much fun it must be but out of fear, didn’t put forth any effort in stepping up to the plate and trying. This self-imposed delay lasted to the point some acquaintances younger than me became seasoned riders. There is a deep-seated, legitimate concern that my window of opportunity will slam shut if I don’t summon enough gumption to go for it.
At the park with friends one July evening, there’s no expectation or premeditation to go on any rides. We are just killing time attempting to act cool. We aren’t inherently cool so attempting to act cool encompasses the full extent of our coolness. Then fate intervenes and I cross paths with a risk-taking girl from school who’s heading to the Double Loop. Out of the blue she asks, “Why don’t you come with me?” Caught off guard, my mouth panics and vocalizes words without my brain’s consent. “Huh? Who…me? Now? Um, yup, no, sure, I guess. I mean, okay. Why not, right? Ladies first. Haha, I’m kidding. You are.” (Brain to face: “You idiot, stop talking. Go back to acting like you’re cool while I sort out this mess.”) I oblige but overcorrect by punctuating the end of this one-sided, babbling conversation with a quick, smarmy, “How you doin’?” nod followed by an demonstrative wink. (Brain to face: “Unbelievable. What the hell, why am I even here?”) She thinks I’m cute, so the exacerbated social awkwardness is overlooked. (Face to brain: “You’re welcome.”)
Taking my hand, we stroll to the end of the Double Loop queue. This is territory I’ve never stepped in before, well beyond the main pavement I normally pound. It’s farther off the beaten path than I’ve ever ventured. Squeals from those already experiencing the ride plants a seed of doubt in my soul. Should I find an excuse to turn around and forfeit my spot to someone more deserving? Can I do this? Should I do this? Is there a better ride that I haven’t even heard of in another township or state that’s more suitable? This is a big commitment. Everyone that’s ridden it has gotten off and raved about how sensational it was. This is my chance to join that brotherhood. How hard can it be?
Arriving on the staging platform, I crush the height restriction by an inch then stand for an extended pause, ensuring the attraction comes to a full and complete stop. My experienced co-rider, already seated and flush with excitement, instructs me to “keep your arms and legs inside at all times.” My approach is timid, my movement gangly. Unsure of which foot to lead with, I just propel my body forward, crumbling into her side. “Sorry, that’s never happened before.” “You’re fine,” she offers with a comforting tone. A bar is positioned in place. “Is this enough protection?” No response. “Seriously! Is this enough protection?” “Yes, that’s more than adequate,” she counters. My thighs stick to the seat. It feels like we’ve boarded the Wonkatania. No opting out now.
The surrounding external stimuli don’t match my visceral signals from past experiences at the park. There are new, distracting sounds, the majority of which are generated by me, and a familiar but displaced odor reminiscent of funnel cakes. It’s apparent I don’t know where to put my hands. My stomach is in knots. What I’d give for a breath mint. To allay the stress, my attention focuses on how the local sports teams are doing.
With a lurching jolt, I’m whiplashed backwards then ratcheted upwards then rocketed downwards at a precipitous angle. Sweat discolors the armpits of my shirt. Any remnants of a cool demeanor are stripped away as deep cracks form in this thin façade. With closed eyes and clenched teeth, I begin mouthing an invocation, “Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Please God, don’t let me throw up.”
I’m cramping one moment but having an ethereal transcendence the next. It’s disorientating but jubilating at the same time. There’s a tingling sensation running through my groin. I’m finding out where to put my hands. I am becoming one with the ride. Then it ends.
That was phenomenal. Those 90 seconds altered my DNA. Is a minute thirty the norm? Anyway, while regaining my bearings, a grin stretches ear to ear because of the endorphins flooding my blood stream. (Brain to face: “No, you’re welcome.”) My hair is disheveled, my heartbeat is arrhythmic. I need a change of underwear. Although not a smoker, I crave a cigarette. I could use a nap, too. I’m instructed to “Exit to your left.” Unclear of the protocol for disembarking, I high-five my partner before delivering a generic, “Wow, thanks a lot,” then hop out. Can’t wait to relive then embellish then re-relive what just happened.
Contemplating getting back in line for another round is squashed since I gotta get home. Mom’s waiting for me by the front gate, no doubt ready with questions on how things went. She’d freak if she knew what transpired so I’ll be vague with certain details and gloss over the rest.
Carrying the confidence gained from riding the Double Loop that wonderful evening, I tried my luck on other rides in the following years. Some were memorable, others not so much. Some were ridden multiple times. One I thought I’d faithfully ride the rest of my life only to have it stay behind when I moved out of town. There were regretful ones that left me disappointed or in pain and swearing off riding rollercoasters forever. But those feelings subsided. I picked myself up for more tries. It didn’t matter if they were familiar ones at Geauga Lake or new ones at county fairs, Cedar Point or Disney World, I approached each with confidence knowing what to expect and where exactly to put my hands. I owe all this to my inaugural time on the Double Loop. You never forget your first ride.