Prepare for takeoff

WITH a throaty braaahhhnnnn from its engine, a ski boat blasts across Lake Mead, faster and faster, until the huge inflatable beast it’s towing rises from the wake like a manta ray.

Pushing 30 mph, the muscular nylon toy catches air and steadily climbs above blue water like a kite on a gust. Suddenly, its wing dips and stabs the water, the whole thing flips and sends me cartwheeling. It’s a big ouch but a total kick in the pants, so I dog paddle back, mount up and hang on for the next ride.

Getting whipsawed, tossed and face-planted into water at high speed sounds nuts, but with the mercury pegged at 122 degrees one day last month, it was a fun way to keep cool on the desert lake. What better proving ground than Lake Mead, the destination just east of Las Vegas for millions of water sports enthusiasts, to field-test a new generation of inflatable, towable water toys.

I took two teens, kids of my co-workers, as crash-test dummies. We rode four different devices all day. After hours of giggles and agony-of-defeat wipeouts we learned that we ride these toys for fun, and the greater the danger, the greater the fun. It is a rush not dissimilar from what a dirt bike rider or surfer or rock climber experiences, even though our vehicle of choice looks like something from the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

The tubes have long been the sedate, slow, soft alternative for granny or the kiddies while the real thrills were found atop wakeboards, kneeboards and water skis. But the new generation of inflatables fly, barrel roll and tip up on edge. They’ve come a long way since the days when a car or truck inner tube was towed behind a boat.

“Lots of people lost fingers that way, but they still rode them,” says Conny Klimenko, chief executive of Los Alamitos-based Sevylor Inc., a leading manufacturer of the toys.

The beast

Klimenko’s pride and joy is the Manta Ray, which retails for about $500. It’s a hulking, ridable beast with a 13-foot wingspan that turns heads at the marina. He conceived it two years ago sitting in his office reminiscing about a Baja fishing trip when he saw giant black mantas rise “like monsters out of the water.”

Made of 840-denier nylon and enough PVC to cloak a Volkswagen Bug, a rider supposedly can guide it from water level to 10 feet high. But it doesn’t work that way, at least not for beginners.

In our secluded cove at Lake Mead, crash-test dummy No. 1, 16-year-old Neil Polakovic of Camarillo, and I are trying to get air on the Manta. Despite numerous gas-guzzling blastoffs behind a 250-horsepower Four Winns pleasure boat, we could only get it airborne long enough to invert and splatter us on the water surface. Pregnant women, people with preexisting heart conditions and the nominally rational be forewarned: This ride is not for you. Time after time, Klimenko’s brainchild -- the most-promising of the new generation of towables -- slapped us down like pancakes. Slapped us hard.

But despite the pain, the anticipation of the roaring boat, watching slack line disappear as it gained speed, feeling the beast beneath you come alive made the ride exciting.

Considerably less fun was SportStuff’s Sumo Tube, which looks like a hollowed-out Dots gumdrop and costs $120. Unlike other tubes, the rider squeezes inside it (the manufacturer pitches it as the world’s first wearable towable) and holds the handle of a water ski tow rope.

Yet the design leaves a lot to be desired. Jessica Osman, 13, crash-test dummy No. 2 from Ventura, says a torrent of water gushed in her face during slow takeoff, and she feared the Sumo Tube would bury her face underwater during a fast takeoff. She tried to keep her head tucked inside the tube like a turtle to avoid face flood, but when the boat lunged, the rope yanked her torso forward exposing her head, so she let go after a few seconds. Neil, however, wouldn’t let go, and drank up the whole Sumo experience.

“When it tips [forward], so much water goes in your eyes, it’s like they’re on fire,” he says. Not that that stopped him from trying over and over.

Of the four tubes we tested, the Sumo was the only one that gave me pause. I could easily picture my 250-pound frame getting stuck in it. Averse to drowning, I left this one to the kids.

Letting the air out

Not all of the new towable toys have crossed the line from dull to daring. Some can only be described using the “B” word -- for boring.

Take Airhead’s Hot Dog, for $200. The basic design -- a sit atop Ski Bob-like ride -- has been around a long time. Climb on this wiener-in-a-bun, straddle it, grab the handles and cruise the lake in style. Pleasant, safe, tame. At slow speeds, the Hot Dog’s got nothing on the flying Manta Ray or the Sumo suit. It tracks arrow-straight at 25 mph, though Jessica got it to hop on the water by bouncing up and down on the seat. It’s a ride that can last as long as you can.

One of the more promising toys is the Acrobat Solo, which costs $210. It resembles a jelly doughnut, except its edges turn up like a taco. In theory, the rider can rock it so it tilts up and rides on edge, a cool way to make banked turns. But Neil and Jessica could not budge it, no matter how fast or slow the boat went. Its convex design meant it stuck firmly within the wake like a cup in a saucer, making it nearly impossible to skip across the wake or crack the whip.

No matter, Jessica turned trickster by standing on it like a surfer, skimming along at about 20 mph. The higher she stood, the more wobbly she got and the closer she inched toward high-speed crash in the warm water.

Funny how quickly a little risk can put a smile on a kid’s face.