TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/080690/0806140.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 6.4 KB | 146 lines

                                                                                LIVING, Page 60

Eeeeeyyooowiiii!!!


A new generation of roller coasters is scarier -- but safer --
than ever

By RICHARD WOODBURY


    From the crest of the first towering hill on the new Texas
Giant roller coaster at Six Flags Over Texas, riders can enjoy
a glittering view of the Dallas skyline 16 miles distant. But
few manage to look at it. They are staring down in horror at
the gaping 14-story plunge awaiting them. As the red, white and
blue cars slide slowly over the edge and then barrel down the
137-ft. incline at 62 m.p.h., the screaming riders begin 90
seconds of tightly orchestrated horror.

    Tearing out of the first dip, they reel from the force of
2.7 Gs -- nearly the gravity load that hits shuttle astronauts
on their climb to orbit -- but only for an instant. Then they
are shooting skyward for 100 ft., only to dive abruptly again,
down the second of 21 more hills. Frightening twists and turns
dot the nearly one-mile course, and disaster seems inevitable
as the train hurtles back and forth through its creaking wood
supports. Finally, the sudden squeal of brakes in the station
signals a merciful finish, and the stunned but happy passengers
scramble off.

    The Giant is one of a new class of faster, higher and wilder
roller coasters roaring onto the amusement-park scene this
summer. Far more terrifying than rides of old, the
megacoasters, with names like Viper, Iron Wolf and Georgia
Cyclone, employ computer technology, ultramodern materials and
aerobatics to deliver a plexus punch to those brave enough to
step aboard. Park operators are also souping up old coasters
and bringing others out of mothballs in a race to produce the
terrifying rides. A total of 176 coasters are running in the
U.S., up from 147 in 1978 and the most since the heyday of the
1920s.

    "The aim is to build in every bit of fright imaginable.
Riders want it," explains coaster designer Ronald Toomer. Most
of the new roller coasters are constructed with tubular steel,
which lends itself to loops and corkscrew twists. But a number
of coaster builders are putting modern tracks and cars within
a traditional latticework of wood, which provides the sense of
ricketiness, danger and nostalgia that riders love. In fact,
roller coasters are safer than ever. Unlike old coasters, which
speed out and back over often predictable sets of hills,
today's rides careen through tight turns, 60 degrees plunges
and dark tunnels, sometimes spinning riders upside down. There
are coasters on which passengers ride standing up, others that
run backward and still more featuring cars that are suspended
below the tracks. At Houston's AstroWorld, the outrageous Ultra
Twister hurls its riders headfirst from nine stories up, then
barrel-rolls them back and forth through a winding tunnel of
steel pipes.

    To achieve these extremes, designers create
computer-simulation models that show the effects of high speed
and sudden force on the riders, the cars and the structure.
This enables engineers to build roller coasters with the
steepest possible inclines and most sharply banked curves to
create the illusion of breakneck speed. All roller-coaster
trains are actually gravity propelled after the initial
chain-drawn ascent and thus steadily slow down from the first
big hill onward.

    Engineers have outfitted trains and tracks with tougher
steel and replaced dual car axles with single axles that swivel
to enable cars to take banked turns faster and more smoothly.
To prevent meltdown at high speeds, wheels have been enlarged
and coated with heavy polyurethane treads.

    Most rides are directed by two sets of programmed logic
controllers encased in small bunker-like rooms beneath the
stations where riders board the cars. The computers monitor the
distances between trains by means of solid-state sensors
embedded in the rails. If a train slows or stops, others behind
it are halted. Multiple sets of pneumatic brakes can
automatically slow a train down midway through the course. By
allowing the new coasters to run three or more trains at the
same time (as opposed to one on old rides), the electronics
have boosted rider capacity from an average of 500 people an
hour to more than 2,000.

    Park operators say the technology has also improved safety.
Some coasters, like nuclear-missile launchers, require two
attendants, pushing separate buttons, to dispatch a train.
Critical parts are X-rayed and stress-tested. Padded steel lap
bars and seat belts make it nearly impossible for riders to
fall out.

    "Operator error has been eliminated," asserts Richard
Kinzel, president of Ohio's Cedar Point park. Says Paul Ruben,
editor of RollerCoaster! magazine: "If people really knew how
safe they are, roller coasters would lose a lot of their
thrill." Still, mishaps do occur. On opening day in April at
Kansas City's Worlds of Fun, one train of the year-old Timber
Wolf coaster rear-ended another approaching the station, sending
nine people to the hospital with minor injuries. Timber Wolf
resumed operations after its computer system was replaced.

    As coaster builders plot more devilish creations, they see
no restraints on how high or fast the rides can go. "The only
limits are money and real estate," declares Cincinnati
structural engineer Curtis Summers, who has designed 27 wooden
coasters. "The higher you go, the more land it takes to
dissipate that energy." More uncertain is how much additional
fright the average rider can endure. Signs at coaster entrances
routinely discourage riders with heart, back or blood-pressure
problems. Richard Brown, a Cleveland biomedical engineer and
consultant to the industry, sees no immediate problems if the
rides are kept relatively smooth. But he concedes that "the
psychology of how much you frighten people is a consideration."

    For the legion of admirers who queue up to ride, however,
getting terrified is what coasters are all about. "It's the
ultimate daring adventure that pushes the edge of our own
bravery," explains Randy Geisler, president of the American
Coaster Enthusiasts, which has tripled its membership to 3,200
in five years. That sentiment was echoed by Greg Blum, 15, of
Dallas as he bounded off the Texas Giant recently. "That was
almost too much to stomach," he cried. "Let me on again."