It used to be a tradition that New York City mayors would ride the Cyclone at the beginning of every season, but that has fallen by the wayside as the curse of the office progressively takes hold. Putting someone in government on the Cyclone was important, because it looks like it’s going to fall apart any second. It also feels like it will, which I didn’t know personally until this year. I hate heights, I hate being scared, I hate roller coasters. I pretty much avoided them until I got on one by accident a few years ago. Since then, I’ve done it voluntarily twice when I was feeling wild, but these were all sleek, modern tracks, not a pile of tinder arrange on rusted metal spikes.
On Halloween weekend, it was a balmy 80 degrees out and riding the Cyclone was on my list of thing I’ve never done, so I decided to do it. All the way to Coney Island I was sick with horrible anxiety about this ride. Like, throw up, poop your pants fear. I’ve been eating a lot of carrots, too, which has increased the fiber intake of my body to dangerous levels. There is a bathroom in Luna Park and I only had to shove like six kids to get to it. The park was decorated for the holiday and energy was high, the bathroom extremely chaotic. It was close to sunset. As I stepped back out the lights of the rides were brightening against the darkening sky.
I have a secret trick for getting myself to do things, which is saying, “You don’t have to. You can always not.”
Just keep repeating that to yourself step-by-step, right up until the moment you’ve gone one step too far to turn back. It’s how I got on the train by my house, how I walked up to the ride and watched it closely as it went on loop after loop. Never before had I observed the trajectory of the Cyclone so closely, because never before had I intended to get on board. I told myself I could still turn back as a train of cars clattered by full of shrieking patrons.
My friend Riley arrived, and he was also a buffer against turning back. If you get someone to come all the way to Coney Island, you have to follow through. I bought our tickets and then we walked up the ramp and he tried to distract me after I admitted how nauseatingly afraid I was.
“How are you feeling now? How about now? What’s going on in your mind now?”
Nothing good!
There wasn’t much of a line and we were seated quickly. Even as we got into the car, it still wasn’t too late. I could have jumped out. It would have been totally disruptive and humiliating, but not impossible. It’s a tight squeeze and the operator checking seats didn’t even notice our bar hadn’t latched on his first pass. As he came back for one more check, he saw us and clinked us firmly in. Could I not breathe from terror or from a bar pressing against my solar plexus with enough force to prevent me from becoming a human projectile? It was now too late to not do this thing. The step-by-step method wins.
Fear is so interesting, because it’s most noticeable when there’s nothing to really be afraid of. I was probably not in any more danger than when sitting on my couch, but my body didn’t know that and no amount of negotiation or calming talk could convince it otherwise. Fear was operating outside of my control so I tried to separate myself from it a bit with aloof observation. The first ascent it quite high and it deserves some applause. Now the sun was really setting, and the edge of the horizon was a rich orange spreading up into a deep blue. To the left was the ocean smudged with the last bits of warm light. To the right, the amusement park glittered in a rainbow of blinking bulbs in every color; behind it, rows of residential streets were slowly being illuminated as more people turned on their living room lamps. Far off in the distance, the Verrazano Bridge was outlined with white trails, defining it against the night.
After that, I pretty much kept my eyes closed. Feeling the drop and rush was horrible enough, but actually seeing it made me ill. It reminds me of dreams I have where I step off the curb of a street and just keep falling, waking up sweaty and gasping. I did try to open my eyes when the cars started to groan upwards again, catching random glimpses of the scene. For one moment, I saw the full moon suspended in the sky, parchment yellow from newly rising, before being thrown forward into the void. Next to me, Riley was screaming and laughing in exultation. In the photo of us, I am clinging to the claustrophobic bar holding us in and he’s living the way man was meant to live: with joy.
A second thing that’s interesting about fear is that sometimes when it’s over you feel really incredible. I noticed this a few years ago after going on my first Haunted Hayride, another occasion where I almost shit myself for no reason. All these intense emotions get wrung out of you, leaving you limp and giddy and peacefully empty. Facing your fear can feel so good and not because you were brave. It’s because afterwards, your brain releases wonderful chemicals.
The cars rattled back to their starting point and the bar released. The riders pulled themselves out of their seats, sighing and giddy. An energy twisted above them, whipped up by the beat of their hearts. I was laughing without hearing myself, like a tea kettle you don’t notice has been whistling on the stove.
It was a beautiful evening and the sky was still full of color. We walked around and down to the beach. The moon was higher and shining white now on the sand.
As I calmed down, I was very tired and yawning. But I also didn’t want to just go home. We decided to walk through the park again, and Riley suggested we go on the Wonder Wheel. What do you know, I’ve never been on the Wonder Wheel either. So, by doing one thing I have never done, I got to do two.
The car swayed slowly in two rotations, giving us ample opportunity to take in the view without any sudden drops. I peered through the screen to the corridors of games and rides below, some shuttered for the season, creating geometric patterns of liveliness and deserted shadows. The season was ending. Even under the celebratory atmosphere of Halloween, a sadness drifted up to the top of the Ferris wheel.
I do recommend visiting Coney Island in the winter, however. It is very cold, windy, gritty, and bleak in an absolutely gorgeous way. And on New Year’s Day, there’s boardwalk dancing. I’d also recommend doing something you’re afraid to do. I know, I know, that is annoying advice we hear so much that it doesn’t even mean anything. Still. Why not? Frightening things will find you if you don’t find them first. May as well test out the things that are scary and not dangerous at all and see what else it leads you to. Probably not anywhere you expected, which is such a gift. It’s so easy to just spend all your time trying to plan one moment to the next, trying to stay safe and undisturbed. You don’t even realize when you are hemming yourself in rather than keeping things out.
We touched down and disembarked and I floated sleepily home.
I was reading about mayors and the Cyclone to make sure I wasn’t just making that up, and the results were very funny. This NYT article from 1986 quotes Mayor Ed Koch, who refused to get on after throwing the switch to start the ride.
''The last time I rode the Cyclone I was about 8,'' he said during opening ceremonies, ''the next day I was 18.''
And here’s a post on Reddit about Eric Adams stopping the line, taking photos, and never getting on.
The Wonder Wheel has lived a wild life:
Consider signing up for the Polar Bear Swim for January 1, 2024, you don’t have to register to join, but the money goes to conservation and arts in the area. It’s truly a blast.