You’ve waited a long time
in a long line, too long
in the steaming sunshine,
dread and eager anticipation
churning your insides
as you titter and laugh
about nothing in particular
while you watch the
muscled train
in its loops and drops
draw ever closer
a few harmless steps
at a time.

Before you know it
the gates part
and the handlebar swings up
and on false legs
you grope
awkward and unsure
to your seat
before your mind
has decided
whether or not it’s ready.

With nervous words,
you settle into
the hard, unfamiliar chair
and latch on
to whatever handholds
you can comfortably reach
and allow the ride
to take you along with it.

The handlebar clamps down
snug against your thighs
and the train is released
by some unseen signal
that sends you
sliding silently forward
on the rails,
committed now.

Too quickly,
the car lurches
with a jolt that seems
a little primitive
as the mechanical chain grips
the carriage from underneath
and begins dragging it upward
rattling and coaxing you
to the first and tallest peak
where the thrill truly begins.

Detached from the ground, you listen
to the clinking and chattering
and grinding
from somewhere below,
your head and eyes
lolling on your neck
to the erratic rhythms
of the track,
climbing still higher.

You’re aimed toward the sun
facing blindly forward
afraid to look down
or around
as you feel the world
drop away to either side
and the air is calm and quiet
except for the noise
from underneath
that reminds you
that you’re rising still higher,
your sweating hands gripping
the painted metal bar
in your lap.

Dizzily anxious,
a little scared
and excited you approach
the white flags at the peak
flipping purposefully
in the breeze
you feel the train slide lazily
over the very top
and detach itself
from the laboring chain,
but before gravity takes over
there is that moment
of release,
of awareness
and clarity,
of being suspended
high above
and you feel
you could go forward
or backward
(or neither)
but you know you’re way past
the point of turning back
and the cars have
just enough momentum
to push you over the edge
and send you hurtling,
breakneck down the tracks
in a rush of acceleration
and a roar
of wind and rails
that tweaks your stomach
like a taut violin string
as you struggle
for the breath
that escapes
only to be swallowed back,
gathered, and delivered
as a scream
of terror and delight
at such a primal sensation.

Stuck fast by the handlebar
pressed into your thighs
you’re ground into your seat
as you rocket through
the curved crease
of the bottom
and without hesitating
race back up
toward the next crest
thrilling and screaming
in pure, physical joy
aimed into the sky
you’re suddenly over the rise
and thundering down
the next hill before
you’ve quite recovered
from the last.

Wave after wave,
mouth wide,
hands clamped,
heart heaving,
blood rushing
upwards and downwards
and up and down
and over and through
in a blur of peaks and valleys
melting quickly forward.

But a ride like this
can’t go on indefinitely
and in the back of your mind
you become aware
that it’s winding down
and the racket and roar
and rush of air
is rapidly losing its momentum
and fading away
and even before it’s gone
you’re already a little sad
that it’s almost over
and you wish
that you could stay
right where you are
and go around again
and again after that
but you know
it doesn’t work like that
and your eyes glaze
as the end approaches
and the train comes to
a smooth and
breathless stop.

Without a sound
the handlebar
releases its grip
and you push it up and away
from you
and stand unsteadily
without feeling your legs
and stagger off
arm in arm
drained and wiped clean
of your fear
and looking forward, already
to doing it again.

© 1996 Pat Hahn

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