Aftershock thrill ride might have changed me forever!

My palms are sweaty, my knees are shaking and my heart is beating so hard the people standing next to me can probably hear it.

I haven’t been this anxious since my first junior-high teen dance.

I am standing in line for a world famous rollercoaster ride called Aftershock, one of the feature attractions at Silverwood Theme Park in northern Idaho.

For those unfamiliar, Aftershock is a imposing 191-foot tall metal snarl of blue and green metal, described by its builders as an ‘inverted boomerang.’

The following description of Aftershock is taken from SilverwoodThemePark.com.

‘Once you board, the cars will slowly move backward up the starting tower until you’re staring straight at the ground. Then gravity will take over and pull you down as you reach speeds of up to 65 miles per hour. You’ll twist and turn through mind-blowing loops and rolls until you reach the second tower…’

You get the idea.

I hear the terrified screams of those already aboard as they go blasting by in a furious blur and I begin to glance around for a way to exit the line without looking like a coward.

Alas, I’ve come too far and escaping this ride with dignity is now out of the question.

While I thoroughly enjoy the amusement park experience, I’ve never been one for thrill rides. During Westerner Days, I usually skip the Zipper and the rest of the nausea-inducing attractions. I am more likely to be found devouring deep-fried Oreos or wasting my hard-earned cash on impossible midway games.

Heights, spins, flips and all that jazz are not really my cup of tea. So how is it, you might ask, that I now find myself just a few feet from the front of the line to one of the most intense, terrifying thrill rides in North America?

As it turns out, even at 31 years old, I am not immune to peer pressure. I am standing here because some good friends have been encouraging (taunting) me all day and with my manhood squarely in questions, chickening out simply isn’t an option.

The coaster comes to a screeching halt right in front of us. As the previous group catches their breath and slowly disembarks, my stomach tightens up in a knot of pure, unadulterated terror.

We are directed to our seats. I buckle my seatbelt, pull down my harness and resist the urge to weep.

A piercing air horn blast alerts us that the fun is about to start; then the car starts moving.

As we climb the first tower in reverse, the ground rushes away and I try to imagine myself in a safer, more serene setting, like a beach, or a forest, or my bed.

We dangle there for a few seconds, I hear a subtle click and gravity ceases to exist. For about 90 seconds we are hurled in 30 different directions. All I can see are flashes of blue Idaho sky and bright green track, mixed with a few moments from my early childhood.

Suddenly, it’s all over and we are slowly lowered back to the station. I am overwhelmed with adrenaline and a renewed appreciation for life itself.

Now I’m not saying that peer pressure is a good thing, but in this instance, I suppose I’m glad I allowed myself to be coerced into a very cool experience I might otherwise have missed.

Now let’s never do that again.

Leo Paré is a former Advocate editor. Email him at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/LeoPare.