The ups and downs of love and coasters
It’s Santa Cruz’s Empire State Building, its Eiffel Tower.
It is, of course, the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk’s Giant Dipper roller coaster, which for nearly a century has sparked shouts and laughter — and in my case, marital regret.
“I thought you liked roller coasters,” I said to my future wife.
“No,” Nancy said. “I wouldn’t have said that because I don’t.”
We had gone to the Boardwalk on an early, still slightly uncertain, date. Now we were standing at the Dipper’s base while the whole boardwalk vibrated with its mechanical trembling and the ocean air rang with riders’ cheers.
“Not cheers,” my future wife corrected. “Screams. Screams of disbelief. They’re wondering why the hell they got on this ride.”
I went on the Dipper by myself. And I had my usual wonderful time, because how can you not have a good time on the Giant Dipper?
Despite this gap in thrill-ride enthusiasm, we got married. And we have remained so, happily. At least once a year we’d return to Santa Cruz, and to the Boardwalk, and I would try to get Nancy to give the Dipper a spin. I employed TED-talk tactics: “What about the importance of risk taking?” I’d ask. I quoted great literature, specifically the Ohio Players’ “Love Rollercoaster” — “Love rollercoaster child/ Loving you is
really wild.”
None of it worked. My wife pointed out that she didn’t make me go to antique stores. Then she got on the Sky Glider, which she said provided Giant Dipperworthy views without the fright.
Even so, my love for the Giant Dipper only deepened. It is in every way a remarkable creation. This spring will mark its 93rd birthday, the Dipper having opened for business on May 17, 1924. “A combination earthquake, balloon ascension, and aero plane ride” was what Dipper creator Adolf Looff said he wanted out of the ride. The Dipper is now the fifth-oldest continuously operating roller coaster in the United States and has been designated a national historic landmark.
One person who understands the Giant Dipper’s importance is Nicholas Laschkewitsch, He grew up riding the coaster, starting at age 6. Now, as a mechanical engineering student and the regional representative for the Northern California region of American Coaster Enthusiasts, he has given a lot of expert thought to what makes the Dipper special.
“It’s a unique ride,” he told me. “Because of the way the Boardwalk is laid out, long and narrow, the Dipper has to go over and under itself many times. There are a lot of tight turns and sudden drops.” Adolf Looff, he said, also knew how to create drama. The roller coaster station is curved and slopes upward, building suspense even while you’re just standing in line.
And then it’s time to climb into your car. Once you are seated, and the train and cars lurch forward, notice how Looff’s sense of drama kicks in again as you descend into a pitchblack tunnel. “It makes you wonder, what’s in this abyss?” You emerge from darkness into sunlight and begin the creaky climb up Dipper Hill, and at the crest you plunge downward, and now you’re zooming along at 55 mph that feels like a thousand, twisting through the three 180-degree fan turns that are another distinctive Dipper feature, up, down, back, forth until at last you lurch to a breathless stop. You don’t know whether to faint or applaud.
My wife and I went back to the Boardwalk, and to the Giant Dipper, a few weeks ago. This time I didn’t try to persuade my wife to ride with me — she was going to be happy on the Sky Glider — but I knew where I was going.
Having talked with Laschkewitsch, I appreciated the Dipper even more. The curving climb to the start of the ride, the bells and whistles and rattles of the trains above.
Down into the dark tunnel, up Dipper Hill. Then, as we creaked and climbed to the crest, I thought about something else Laschkewitsch had said. Unlike modern coasters, he told me, the Dipper thrills but doesn’t try to terrorize. “The modern coasters all want to go higher and taller and faster. But not everybody wants to be thrown around.” What makes the Dipper special, he said, is that its design, and even its beachside setting, assure you that you’re going to experience not existential fear but fun. “There aren’t coasters being built today that are remotely like the Dipper. When you’re riding it, you’re seeing the ocean, you’re smelling the salt air. It just has this great charm. Whenever I ride it, I feel joy.”
I rode to the end. I climbed out, staggering the way you do when you get off a roller coaster. My wife was waiting for me. “How was it?” she asked “Joyful,” I said, glad that, thanks to Laschkewitsch, I had found the perfect adjective for the Dipper. My wife smiled, knowing that one of the lessons of a happy marriage is that even joy you can’t completely share becomes in some way your own.