A few years back, Josh, his best friend and I went on vacation to California.  This was the year that Goliath had opened at Six Flags Valencia, CA, and my co-workers had voted that I “face my fear” and ride that sucker.

It would be facing my fear because, well, that coaster is 255’ high at its peak, which in this coaster’s case, is the very first hill.  The one they crank the cars up ever.so.slowly.

I opted to sit next to Josh’s friend, rather than Josh himself, since his friend seemed to be a touch scared to go on the coaster too (Josh was jazzed about going on this thing), and I figured I’d be scared along with someone else who was.

I spent the entire time in line trying to calm myself, alternating between semi-calmness and fighting the urge to bolt from the line and head for “safety”.  That being, anywhere but in the line for the ride.

But I made a promise to my co-workers that I would ride this thing, and that we’d buy a picture to prove it.

So it comes our turn to board a car.  Josh’s friend and I take the forward seat (we were not in the first car.. I think I really would have chickened out had it been the first car), and Josh sat behind us.  So, away we go.

It seemed like it took forever for the cars to be pulled to the top of the hill.  I think that is probably what was the worst for me.  I started losing my composure as soon as we began the uphill climb. By about halfway up, I was blubbering like a little girl.

Yes, I cried.  I bawled like a baby.  I wanted off of that thing.  Of course, I wanted off even more when I made the mistake of looking down, realizing how high up we were climbing. 🐛

But everyone knows, except in dire emergencies, there is no getting off of those coasters until the ride is done.  So I continued to blubber & cry as we neared the top.  Then I started the pre-emptive screams.  Not the blood curdling kind—that came with the 45 degree drop—but the ones that come through clenched teeth.

The drop was virtually heart-stopping, and at the bottom you go just a bit lower than ground level, kind of underground through a short, dark tunnel, and then back outside for the rest of the ride… which is just a bunch more hills & shorter drops and sharp turns, but no loops.

When it was all done, my extremeties were tingly and my legs were wobbly.  I wasn’t crying anymore, but I was definitely glad the ride was over.  It wasn’t as bad as I was making it out to be, fear of heights aside.  I actually went on it a year or two later when we went to Six Flags again, that time with Josh’s mom & step-dad.  Didn’t cry on the way up that time, though.

Oh, and we did buy the picture that gets snapped just before the coaster enters the tunnel at the bottom of the first drop.  I’ve got it somewhere on my computer at home.. when I find it, I’ll upload & post it here for your amusement.  I was wearing sunglasses so you can’t really tell that I was crying, but believe me, I was.  Later, Josh & his friend wondered if the people who were in front of and behind us thought that the two of them were subjecting me to some kind of evil torture (I know at least one or two people looked back at me while we were on the uphill climb).  Heh.