The Experience of a Ferris Wheel Ride

I have always been fascinated by carnival rides. From the amazing flashing lights to the screeching sounds of screams from people on the rides, somehow, it always gets my attention. It amazes me that average, ordinary people eagerly trade in the serenity of the ground for the chance to be tossed through the air like vegetables in a food processor. It also amazes me that at some point in history someone thought that people would enjoy this, and the person that invented these terrifying machines were the first ones on them. For me, it is precisely the thrill and excitement of having survived the ride that keeps me coming back for more, time and time again.
My first experience with a carnival ride was a Ferris wheel at a local fair down the street from my neighborhood. Standing at a distance and looking at that looming monstrosity spinning the life out of its sardine-caged occupants, I was morbidly frightened and tentatively excited. It was a huge, colorful, noisy and not just your average carnival Ferris wheel. It was the kind that was about 20 stories high just like a New York skyscraper. Well that’s what it looked like. Ever since that initial impression became fossilized in my imagination many years ago, these rides have reminded me of great big mythical beasts, much like dinosaurs carrying off their screaming passengers like sacrificial virgins. Even the droning sound of the Ferris wheel’s engines brings to mind the great roar of a fire-breathing dragon with smoke spewing from its exhaust-pipe nostrils.
The first ride on one of these fantastic beasts gave me an instant rush of adrenaline through my blood. As the death-defying ride turned, a lump in my throat started to formed and an instant rush of vomit came pulsating at my mouth. I felt like I was going to walk the plank as my nervousness came rushing towards me. Again and again, as the ride gained momentum, the resistance to gravity was built up until I was unable to move my skinny frail body.