Analyzing the rides at Silverwood

Silverwood means different things to different people.

To some it's the final bastion of whimsical, non-threatening diversion. They opt for rides that gently whisk them around, with the pavement and the security of being able to hop off if anything breaks down in plain view.

For others, it's a place to be repeatedly walloped over the head with the reminder of their own mortality. They strap themselves into rides that thoroughly mess with primal survival instincts. At the end of the day, the whipped cream on that funnel cake is the sweetest and purest ever tasted, because they're still alive.

This past weekend, appropriately in the midst of Silverwood's 25th anniversary, I set out to find out which category I fit into. I ventured into our local amusement park to try as many rides as my body would agree to, equipped with Dramamine and a boyfriend whose arm I could alternately squeeze in fear and excitement.

My analysis of the rides of the day, divided into helpful categories:

Easy on the Blood Pressure:

Super Roundup: (you stand and it turns)

Standing against the curved wall, I wondered if that limp chain in front of me offered much safety. But the giant mouse wheel-shaped ride started turning, plastering me back effectively, and I relaxed and daydreamed.

It was a game of trust, really, with the engineers behind these mammoth gadgets we gleefully place our fragile bodies into. It was also a good test of how much turning my guts could endure.

Paratrooper: (you sit and it turns)

It's an improved Ferris wheel, with just few enough seats that we weren't stuck at the top forever while folks climbed on.

The ride turned on a tilted axis, sweeping us up to the right then coasting us down to the left, stirring a warm breeze. My boyfriend and I held hands and chatted as we swung our bare feet.

It felt like summer.

Log ride: (do you really need a description?)

An answer to the age-old question of what it was like to be a log in early 20th century river logging operations. We bobbed along leisurely, the log knocking against the sides of the canal, in spite of my boyfriend's efforts to rock our craft into a faster pace.

I acknowledge, the climb up to the drop at the finale had me gripping the handles fiercely. The plunge was over quickly, however, with a minor splash that didn't leave me wishing for a change of pants.

Wave Pool: (speaks for itself, located in Boulder Beach water park)

No rafts, no required tubes, no lines. We jumped in, splashed around and every few minutes giant waves swept across and caressed us backward. Cyndi Lauper and the Beach Boys were played in the background. Is there anyone who can be angry in this situation?

Thrilling:

Thunder Canyon: (rapids ride)

The sun was bearing down, we craved relief. Good reasons to hit a rapids ride.

Being just a pair, we got to skip much of the line to join another group, a good tip for couples, or parents who want to ditch their kids.

Once the ride jolted off, a determined fountain drenched us in seconds. Then the ride was dipping up and down, delivering us into hungry waves that swept into our shirts, our pants, our shoes. Ahh.

No huge drops, nothing scary. Just gentle waves, and guaranteed dampness.

Cork Screw: (short roller coaster)

I think of this as the warm-up roller coaster. Wasp-colored and featuring my favorite overhead safety holds - like you're being cuddled by a plastic bear - it's short and sweet.

The slow, initial climb eased us into a turn, instead of a stomach-in-the-mouth drop. The following twist was quick, the eventual drop not too steep.

Then it was over, and I chalked up one coaster already conquered.

Velocity Peak: (three body water slides, in Boulder Beach)

The setup is primitive: Just your body, some steep slides and water. Trust that they all work in your favor.

Choosing the coiled tube slide, I mustered courage and tossed myself in.

I shot downward, then right, left, down again. Decided against shouting "woohoo," which led to gulping down water of unknown origin.

I was jetted into the final pool, and climbed out with a wedgie and sense of joy.

Timber Terror: (wood roller coaster)

Unlike its sister, Tremors, this wooden roller coaster didn't leave me gasping for breath.

Although there was still the paranoia I feel on a wooden ride - something that looks out of the wild west shouldn't go the speed of a car, right? - the ride has twists, jerks and rises that garnered more jubilation than anxiety.

Ricochet Rapids: (water raft ride, Boulder Beach)

I figured the screams of people ahead of us were exaggerated, just over-stimulated tweens.

But then we were on the raft and zipping through the dark. I had never dreamt a giant, wet pancake-shaped object could maneuver in so many ways.

We dropped down, shot up, slid to the ceiling and then back again in the other direction. Careening at last into the bottom pool, we were giddy from all the surprises.

Avalanche Mountain: (water raft ride, Boulder Beach)

It was both exciting and alarming that we had a clear view of the sky and the rest of the park. When the raft slid easily up the side, teasing that this time we were going over and good luck then, I wondered why I hadn't eaten more at lunch to keep us anchored.

Stuff of Nightmares:

Tremors: (wood roller coaster with tunnels)

I admit it: I shut my eyes on this one.

Maybe it's just the nature of the ride, seemingly designed to try throwing off its inhabitants.

Creaking up that first climb, the train shuddered angrily, like a dog shaking off fleas. Then it was on a rampage, flying down the wooden trestles and thundering straight up, then curving and shooting down again, plunging into the pitch black tunnels (or was that me closing me eyes?).

I should have known, by the folks who rode before us. People had that look. Wide eyed, tangled hair, big gulps of air. Like they just met the grim reaper, and it gave them a sucker punch.

Panic Plunge: (tower drop)

I had laughed seeing a kid finish the ride before we got on; his eyes wide, mouth ajar, in something of a stupor.

But then we were in the seats, and starting to rise. Higher and higher, at a pace just relaxed enough it was impossible to be so.

Still higher, even when the parking lot was tiny, and there was surely no stratosphere left.

Taking in the sweeping vista, I felt oddly at peace.

Until our seats eased to a halt.

And suddenly we were weightless, dropping, obscenely faster than a stone, the landscape a blur. There was no way to be calm; our bodies were paralyzed, lips froze in screams.

When we stopped, there was a man standing where we had been, just losing it over our stunned faces.

Aftershock: (roller coaster with loop)

My favorite ride of the park, possibly because everything happens too fast to feel fear.

I knew beforehand that the ride would draw the seats back, then slingshot us forward through a loop, hang us up again and then take us through it all backward.

But riding on it, I was at the mercy of my restricted senses. I saw lots of green whipping around, in between flashes of sky and amusement park. I felt atmosphere whooshing in my ears.

Glorious. Maybe it's like being an astronaut. Or maybe it's like being a kid again on the swing, taking that big jump through the air. Either way, I was elated to be air born.

Alecia Warren is a staff writer for The Press. She can be reached at 664-8176, Ext. 2011, or via email at awarren@cdapress.com.