Phoenix
I’m sure the cars made that sound. The “fffffeeewww” that comes as they briefly rush into view and then out of sight on their way. One after the other.
“fffffeeewww”
“fffffeeewww”
“fffffeee—ffffeeewww”
The roller coaster probably clanked its chain when it managed to have riders. A quick succession of steel on steel followed by a handful of passengers letting out screams as they careened into a curve.
Did the canal smell? I don’t think so, but I could be wrong.
Do I remember the feel of the gravel crunching below my feet? I think I do, but I’m not sure if I’m just filling in the blanks with a ubiquitous sensation or truly recalling that.
At the time, I was at a turning point. Both on that trip and in life.
Well...maybe.
On the trip? definitely. I was at the end.
But in life? Not entirely sure.
...I’m writing this months later while eating frozen pizza and drinking wine from a coffee mug. Travis did mention recently, though, that he could sense where things were for me even if I couldn’t.
What I do recall with absolute certainty is that I truly felt at ease looking across that industrial aqueduct—at that random amusement park glowing in the summer humidity of a place that wasn’t home.
The road since leaving the Salton Sea had been arduous. Travis had held out as long as he could after his toxic waste mishap, but after stopping at a rest stop with generic vending machines, I took over the driving. We listened to Phoenix’s late-night, somewhat terrible Alice Cooper radio show as the skyline came into view and we found our AirBNB near the airport. Despite our enthusiasm for sipping complimentary bourbon while watching old episodes of “Maury”, we both eventually succumbed to exhaustion.
Phoenix would be my last stop on this trip, but it was originally the impetus. When I had suddenly found myself with time on my hands and a desire to get out of town, the “Valley of the Sun” was the first destination I looked at. Specifically, a small suburban amusement park near a mall parking lot. The place—with its historic, rare roller coasters—seemed like it’d be enjoyable to photograph on 35mm film. We never made it into the park, though. Didn’t even bother. I don’t really recall why. Maybe we didn’t want to pay, maybe we were too tired after days of traveling. All I know is that I was content to just be away. From home. From turmoil.
Castles N’ Coasters’ premier ride, the “Desert Storm” roller coaster, opened in 1992. It’s the tallest, fastest, and only looping roller coaster in the entire state (which isn’t saying much since Arizona only features a grand total of six, five of which are exclusively designed for children). The ride was designed by a defunct iteration of the Hopkins Rides company. Known primarily for water attractions, Hopkins’ built seven roller coasters between 1985 and 1996. As of this writing: four still operate, two are closed, and one has been demolished. A smaller “junior coaster” manufactured by Hopkins and billed as “Patriot” also operates at Castles N’ Coasters.
I would’ve loved to have continued on with Travis, to ride along with him across the rest of the country and back to Ohio, but I had a flight to catch. On board, I looked back at my notes and searched for meaning. Couldn’t really find anything. Even now, I haven’t been able to compose an ending to this post, or this series, that brings it all together.
I’m ok with that, though. My time had been well spent. Sometimes all one needs is a day spent taking in a repurposed Circuit City, an OG Taco Bell, and a charming little amusement park out west that’s far away from where you don’t want to be.
The above story is Part 7 (of 7) in a series from a trip out west.