It had been a long time since I had been on a roller coaster designed more for speed than for twists, turns and upside-down thrills.
So as I faced skyward early this month while my car on the new Mako roller coaster at SeaWorld Orlando rapidly climbed the 200-foot-high opening hill, I was hit with a combination of fear and anticipation.
Would I, at 44, still enjoy that feeling of dropping sharply out of the sky that so captivated me when I was a child riding the wooden Beast roller coaster at Kings Island outside Cincinnati.
Or, would my rather more delicate middle-age constitution leave me grateful that I took this ride immediately before, rather than after, dinner? And would the remainder of my evening be something like an afternoon I spent at Universal Orlando early this summer? On that day, a decision to ride two simulator attractions back to back left me too queasy to so much as check email on my phone for the next two hours.
SeaWorld proudly proclaims that Mako, which opened in June, is the fastest, highest and longest roller coaster in the Orlando area. Zipping nearly straight down that first hill, my fingers digging sharply into the restraint device at my seat, I had no trouble believing the fastest and tallest part. But when the ride was over I did have trouble believing it had lasted three minutes, as SeaWorld says it does. It's not that I doubted Sea World's honesty; it's just that the ride didn't feel like it had taken that long.
One of the things I've always liked about fast, steep roller coasters is the sense of weightlessness you get during the transition between uphill and downhill. Mako offers that sensation in spades, most notably on its most dramatic drop but also on several more occasions over the course of the ride. With a maximum speed of 73 mph, it also offers plenty of g-force, particularly as the car comes out of the first sharp drop, rises quickly for a second drop and then banks to the left to begin a rapid series of smaller hills.
Through it all, the ride is smooth. I still love the idea of old wooden roller coasters, like the aforementioned Beast in Ohio; I'm just old school that way. But the nostalgic rattling sound of the wooden classics also bodes of an experience that can be bumpy, even jarring at times. By comparison, being on Mako reminded me of how I felt when rode for the first time in my uncle's Lexus some 25 years ago, having grown used to my beat-up Nissan Sentra.
Making my way through the Mako gift shop immediately after the ride, I stopped at the bank of computers that offer photos for purchase of each ride participant.
I cringed as I looked for my photo, hoping that I wouldn't look too scared. It turned out that at least at the moment of the photograph my eyes had been open, rather than closed tight in a terrified "I can't look" expression.
I sauntered out of the shop, pleased in the knowledge that for a few minutes Mako had me feel like a kid again.