Our absurd faith in infrastructure
Imagine you’re driving across the I-430 bridge from Little Rock to North Little Rock around twilight. You glance westward to admire the view of Pinnacle Mountain and absently wonder why there’s so little traffic on the usually busy stretch of highway. Moments later, you find out why.
The road, which you’ve traveled a zillion times, isn’t there anymore. It’s caved in, and is—unbelievably— sending vehicles and drivers into the Arkansas River.
Impossible, you say? Think again. Why do we inherently assume that infrastructure will be there when we need it?
On Sept. 15, 2001, the Queen Isabella Causeway bridge leading from Port Isabel, Texas, to South Padre Island collapsed and killed eight people.
Around 2 a.m., a barge struck the bridge, causing two 85-foot sections of the causeway to crumple into the water. Five cars went over the edge.
One of three survivors is Gustavo Morales of Austin, Texas. According to John Burnett of NPR, Morales was driving home across the 21/2-mile bridge after closing the restaurant he managed. Suddenly, there was no more pavement. His Chevy pickup plunged 80 feet into the water of the the Laguna Madre.
His pickup didn’t submerge right away. He got out through the windows, which were manually operated, and swam to the surface. Night fishermen rescued him.
A Coast Guard investigation later found that a tugboat pushing four loaded barges struck a support column, causing two massive segments at the top of the bridge to fall.
Morales and others couldn’t have seen this coming; who would? We brazenly live our lives, not giving a thought to the possibilities of other life-threatening infrastructure failures such as building collapses, water main breaks, levee fractures, oil spills, gas pipe ruptures, dam implosions, steam pipe explosions and failures in communications infrastructure.
In a stroke of incredibly bad timing, all this came to mind during my recent visit to the Arkansas State Fair. It was on a warm, sunny weekday afternoon. Fairs are fun for their energy, their absurd interpretations of what constitutes food, for the sight of little kids outwitting the game operators and winning stuffed animals practically bigger than they are, for the crafty animals (like a Zonkey) that charm visitors out of snacks at the petting zoo, and for the clamorous cacophony that never stops.
The midway was, as always, crammed with towering thrill rides bearing bravado names like Mega Drop, Alpine Bob’s, Cliff Hanger, Banzai, Crazy Mouse Roller Coaster, Niagara Falls Flume, Rock and Roll Screamer, Space Roller, Swing Tower, Vertigo, and Zero Gravity.
For reasons more to do with frugality than fear, I’d rather watch others on these rides than climb on. Plus I grew up spending a lot of time at Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio, Euclid Beach amusement park (famous for its aptly named Thriller wooden roller coaster) in Cleveland, Geauga Lake amusement park in Aurora, as well as zillions of Catholic church carnivals with Ferris wheels, dodge’ems (bumper cars), merry-go-rounds, and Tilt-a-Whirls.
The rides at Ohio’s big amusement parks like Cedar Point and Kings Island in Cincinnati are permanent, but those that pop up at fairs and carnivals spend much of their time on the road, traveling from one event to another. Unlike the permanent facilities, they’re erected on all sorts of terrain in record time, and dismantled the same way.
How do we know they’re safe? A ride called the Fire Ball malfunctioned on July 27, 2017, at the Ohio State Fair in Columbus, killing an 18-year-old and injuring seven others. Cause of malfunction, as reported by Thrillist: excessive corrosion on the interior of the gondola support beam.
You’d think that permanent rides like those at, say, Six Flags parks would be safer than those that are erected in two or three days, then packed up and hauled off. Not so, says Dr. Kathryn Woodcock, a professor at Ryerson University in Toronto and specialist in human-centric design for amusement attractions.
“Ride safety standards and manufacturer’s requirements are the same regardless of whether the ride travels or stays in one location,” she told Thrillist. “The portable ride industry would point out that regular assembly and disassembly obliges them to have hands on the entire ride every time they relocate, and the same ride in a theme park would have the same list of required inspections and service procedures.
“Portable ride operators who travel from jurisdiction to jurisdiction are inspected by a variety of different regulators, each of whom will bring different points of emphasis, which is a valuable redundancy in the safety oversight network,” she added.
But this is where things get complicated, as the safety-inspection regulations these carnival rides need to follow are almost never the same across state lines.
Arkansas’ ride operation is inspected by the Occupational Safety and Health section of the state Department of Labor & Licensing. According to labor.arkansas.gov, permanent rides or attractions must be inspected every six months. Portable rides and attractions must be inspected every time they are set up. Inflatable attractions, rock climbing walls, and certain self-contained mobile playgrounds (with no mechanical or electrical parts) must be inspected every six months.
Each ride must be insured in the minimum amount of $1 million per incident or occurrence.
In contrast, New Jersey’s ride operation is overseen by the Department of Community Affairs. In Colorado, it’s run by the Division of Oil and Public Safety. In Missouri, it’s the Division of Fire Safety. In Oregon, it’s the Building Codes Division.
Still, just like household appliances, cars, and lawnmowers, failure is always an option. “The possibility of mechanical failure exists in every machine,” said Professor Woodcock. “We should not be surprised when machines break.”
Bridges, overpasses, and other challenging routes can break too. With that in mind, keep an eye on the road ahead.