Just for Hair-Raising, Heart-Pounding Thrills

There’s nothing like speeding down a 115-foot vertical drop at 65 mph or blasting 370 feet in the air at 100 mph.

It tickles your stomach. It clears the mind. Nothing like a rush of fear to banish stress. At least that’s the effect it has on me.

I love that stuff. My friends shake their heads, my mother throws up her hands in dismay. But I love that stuff.

I even jumped out of a plane once. It wasn’t one of those deals where I was hooked to a veteran skydiving instructor. I went solo because I wanted to experience the fall to the fullest. One day after taking a three-hour course at a parachuting school in Van Nuys, I drove out to the desert in California City and took the plunge.

I admit, it was terrifying. But after landing with all bones intact, I felt tremendously empowered. I wanted the world to know I dove out of one of those rinky-dink little aircraft at 4,000 feet.

So what if I almost threw up seconds before jumping? I leave that part out whenever I tell the story.

My mother, a drama queen, went into crisis mode, lighting several candles to her favorite saints before I jumped. Mom gets queasy in a car at 60 mph. Only prayer gets her through a commercial jet flight.

When I went hang gliding off a cliff in San Clemente with an experienced instructor, I showed mother a photo of us in midair to prove I was in good hands the entire ride. Nothing to fret about, Mom.

She didn’t buy it. One look at his long hair and the peace signs on the glider and she decided I had leapt into space with a drugged-out hippie.

“Why are you always doing those crazy things?” she asks repeatedly.

Simple. Adrenaline rush. Even as a toddler, my mother says, I giggled when my dad threw me in the air or swung me around. Other kids were scared. I always wanted more and cried whenever “the ride” stopped.

For me, there’s tremendous satisfaction in experiencing overwhelming fear and prevailing. It builds character. Honest. There are even practical benefits.

Shortly after my only parachute jump, I discovered a mouse in my house. Normally the thought of cohabitating with a rodent would leave me sleepless with terror.

But I kept thinking: “I jumped out of a plane. I can trap this little sucker!”

I finally did, but the fear I experienced when I first saw it in the coat closet was comparable to those torturous seconds before diving out of that plane.

My brother accused me of being a drama princess, my mother’s worthy daughter. How could a little mouse possibly scare me more than the life-threatening activities I call fun, he asked?

Actually, as I get older, my thrill threshold has come down. No more skydiving. I get my fix these days from roller coasters. Plenty of adrenaline rushes without actually hurling myself into the sky. Mother isn’t exactly thrilled, but she tolerates this as a compromise.

Her big question now is, “Are you going to do those stupid things when you’re pregnant?”

I’ll deal with that when the time comes. In the interim, I’ll hang out at my favorite place in the world: Six Flags Magic Mountain in Valencia. I’m a longtime season pass holder. During summer, when the park is open till 10 p.m., I often go two to three nights a week after work.

Whatever tension may have built throughout the day at the office always vanishes by the time I leave. It’s my therapy.

The drive was a pain when I lived on the Westside, but now it’s only 20 minutes from my Northridge home. Who says there’s no cultural advantage to living in the Valley? Less than half an hour from my home are the world’s fastest, tallest and most exhilarating roller coasters. That in itself increases any property value in my book.

My favorite is Colossus, a huge white wood roller coaster built in 1978. I remember when it opened. I was a kid and my dad, brother and I stood in line for nearly two hours to ride it.

Worth every minute.

More sophisticated rides have been created since Colossus’ debut, but the 20-year-old coaster remains atop my list. It’s that first, 115-foot drop that does it for me. On Halloween they run it backward. Sensational.

The only ride that comes close to matching it, in my opinion, is the Desperado in Stateline, Nev., which has a 225-foot drop and reaches speeds of 94 mph. Getting there is a nearly four-hour drive, though. Hard to make daily visits.

I’d rather stay in the Valley, near Magic Mountain’s latest high-tech roller coasters. There’s Viper, an intense ride with a bright orange steel track that features three vertical loops, corkscrews, a boomerang, a double-barrel and an 18-story drop. All this at 70 mph. It’s enough to clear even the most severe sinus problem.

On Superman the Escape, linear synchronous electromagnetic motors generate 2,000 horsepower to slam the 6-ton passenger car to 100 mph in seven seconds. That sits you back under a 4.5 G force. It soars 370 feet straight up an L-shaped track. At the top, it comes to a halt for about 6 1/2 seconds of weightlessness. Really. I once let go of a penny up there and it actually floated. And then it goes plunging back down at 100 mph--backward.

On Riddler’s Revenge, a sleek, green bullet-nosed train hangs riders upside down six times, and flies them through a 124-foot vertical loop before heading into a 250-foot speed spiral.

My close friends have a constant complaint for me: “Get a life!”

I’ve got one, thanks. It just happens to involve a lot of speed, falling and controlled terror. Sorry Mom.