Departing from Lansing early that morning we arrived to Kings Island shortly after its 10:00am opening time planning for a full day at the park. The weather wasn’t supposed to be great but when we arrived it was clear if not very humid. The parking setup they have is somewhat confusing, since I presented my voucher for a Platinum Kings Island pass which is supposed to get us into the closer premium lot, but instead we somehow still got shuttled into the regular lot. Not much of a problem since the crowds were still fairly light that morning. I was fearful of what the wait for season pass processing would be like and was quite pleased to find that not only did the process now take less than a minute, there consequently was no line. The time it took to find the processing center (it’s just off to the left of the main gates) easily outweighed the time it took to get it processed. Inside the park we went straight to start out the season with a front row ride on Diamondback. Every detail about that ride can be found in my Diamondback Analysis. After two rides there we went over to the Beast, which I again will not elaborate here since that can all be found in my Beast 30th Anniversary Analysis.

Okay, now that I’ve got all those requisite-of-every-amusement-park-trip-report anterior ramblings out of the way it’s time to get to the meat of the story.

With the additions of all these high-profile new attractions from respected designers to the former Paramount Parks a lot of people are saying that Cedar Fair is the best thing to ever happen to Kings Island. Count me out of that group. After experiencing the park that day it became clear to me that Cedar Fair has totally and wholly become the new Premier Parks/Six Flags. That’s not to say that I wish the former Paramount management back into their parks, since they did display a general incompetence in choosing their ride systems. (If it wasn’t a flat-out bad decision it was still a relatively conservative investment compared to what the rest of the industry was doing; Son of Beast was the chain’s last real attention-grabbing installation and look how well it turned out after a few years… more on that one later). But Cedar Fair seems to be adopting an attitude that is turning the parks into expensive corporatized carnivals. Rides, shows and buildings compete for your attention as totally compartmentalized structures threaded together by a midway, rather than try to coalesce into a complete and complementary mise-en-scène as it had been during the Duell years of amusement park design during the 1960’s and 70’s. I am aware that KI was not one of R. Duell’s work, but Taft seemed to be following the same philosophy when it was first designed and the park fits in that same strand of theme park history. For the most part Paramount tried it’s best to retain that feeling of grandeur to their parks except perhaps their last few years when Italian Job was plopped down in the middle of what had formally been the beautifully landscaped heart of the park. (Looking at satellite imagery, it would have fit PERFECTLY in the Action Zone where the go-karts and part of King Cobra used to fit, WHY didn’t it go there? Now we’ve got Diamondback filling in the other half of that peaceful centerpiece and the park is now completely homogenized to meld with the Action Zone area)

The Cedar Fair philosophy of park layout planning and design seems to have big investments especially like Behemoth and Diamondback (although many other new coasters such as most of the Geauga Lake relocations, WoF’s Patriot and Knott’s Silver Bullet) appeal to guest as a very expensive, high-end carnival ride, essentially. They’re designed to dominate their surroundings and call as much attention to themselves as they can, in nearly the exact same way a carnival ride is designed by its manufacturers to stand out wherever it happens to be placed along a generic midway filled with other rides also competing for your attention.

There actually is some theoretical justification to this sort of park design that’s been in place as early as the 1980’s and has been present in nearly every major theme park (although probably best personified by Cedar Fair) to this day, and it’s not a surprise that this type of park design has emerged almost exclusively from the more corporatized parks in the United States: Economics. Classical economic theory states, among much else, that in a case where you have several individuals inhabiting the same system (in this case, individual rides and attractions within a singular amusement park), what is best for each individual is therefore best for the system. Why hold a certain ride back from appearing as spectacular in the park as it could be, just for the sake of other lesser attractions around it? A perfectly valid and logical argument, however it is from that argument that the ‘expensive carnival’ conclusion necessarily arises when all their coasters are painted the flashiest colors imaginable and I think that is something that anyone can agree is not what we’re looking for out of a top-end regional theme park.

Transitioning from those thoughts I’ll start the reviews with Firehawk, the first major addition to the park preformed entirely under the Cedar Fair banner. I’ve always liked this ride for what it is, mostly from my experience on it back at Geauga Lake/Six Flags Worlds of Adventure. I only got one ride on it back in 2007 when it first opened thanks to the long lines, and unfortunately long lines were encountered here as well. One side of the station was open but with both trains being run, which didn’t make that big of an impact because the time it took for the second train to make it from the main brake run to the station, raise the cars and get the last load of riders off the other train was already back to the main brakes. I’m quite positive they have (or had) a third train with this ride that might have been refurbished and put into service a year after opening, but it seems as though those plans have been scrapped, and a shame, too. The coaster works better as a generic looper that crosses between inverted and upright styles than a “flying experience” as the park would have advertised. If I could fly, I imagine I would fly smoothly and gracefully rather than shunt around the track as this ride had (there was a very loud squealing that accompanied the trains today), and the whole effect is lost anyway by the ride’s placement over an empty field with nothing but concrete footers below. The B&M flyers probably do a much better job at providing this experience, although of the three of those kind that I’ve been on (the Superman Ultimate Flight trio) none have yet resolved the ‘open field’ problem yet. Again with these expensive carnival coasters… But as I said, it’s an okay ride if you think of it as a kind of bizarre inverted/sitdown looper combo rather than a flying coaster, fitting in well for the park with the likes of Invertigo, Vortex and Flight of Fear, the last of  which I’ll review next.

The line for Flight of Fear was thankfully very short, and we were able to snag a front row ride after only two cycles. I think this could be one of the best rides in the park if only they would turn off that midcourse brake which brings it to a complete stop. The first cobra roll and a half are extremely powerful and disorienting. My dad commented after the ride that at first he had no clue which way was up or down, a testament to both the high g-forces that are sustained all the way around that don’t give away which direction gravity is pulling us, and the lack of spatial awareness created by the darkness and spider web of track whizzing by. Then after a few more turns the midcourse brake kicks in and completely transforms the ride. It is now all-too clear which direction gravity is pulling us, which is most likely 90 degrees to the side since the banking in this section was clearly intended for speeds closer to 55 mph, not 5. It finally gets a bit more pep back in its step towards the end with the low-to-the-floor left curve that has a great moment of a false banking rise as if to enter a corkscrew, followed by another banking rise that leads us into an actual corkscrew to cap off the ride experience. This probably is still one of my favorite launched or indoor coasters around, just the amount of track and supports wound into that room still boggles my mind.

Continuing on through the Coney Mall section of the park is their original coaster The Racer. I feel that John Allen doesn’t get nearly enough credit as he deserves among today’s coaster enthusiasts, although it is perhaps understandable given that his surviving designs all tend to handle much rougher than they should. A long series of parabolic airtime hills on the way out and back, with nothing but a slight dogleg along each course and a turnaround at the far end. If you can try to tune out the bad tracking (which on all of my experiences has alternated between “hardly even noticeable” and “my head was placed inside a paint mixer”) the perfectly parabolic profiling of the hills is still very present to this day, a very gentle lift from the seat, sustained, and then easily set back down (unlike a circular hill where the sharpest airtime is at the entry and exit of the curve, and the weakest is at the apex; even CCI worked with this model for most of their lifetime). If the ride ever could get back a lighter, more flexible set of trains with single-position lapbars I’m positive this ride would rank high as one of the most joyfully blissful, aesthetically attuned coaster experiences ever to grace plant Earth. With modern wooden coaster criteria requiring so many changes in dynamics to be considered a well-rounded or worth-while ride I’d really like to see a ride like the Racer show all of those rides up for it’s simple, straightforward beauty.

Just beyond the Racer is another small gem that only those who have actually been to Kings Island likely know about: Adventure Express. This is probably the best mine train I’ve ever been on, with the possible exception of Silver Dollar City’s Thunderation (also a late-era Arrow mine train), but that one lacks the extended, meandering layout and somewhat lackadaisical pacing that was signature to the original mine rides and still present in Adventure Express. It manages both real speed and forces, a long layout that’s hard to memorize (whenever I fear it’s about to end I remember there’s still an entire section left to go) several distinct areas of themeing as well as interaction with the natural terrain, plus the greatest surprise ending of all time. Whatever you’re expecting from the ending, expect the opposite. And then you’ll be surprised.

Before heading over to review the rides in the Action Zone area of the park I recall making a quick stop through the Nickelodeon Universe area of the park, which I’ve never been through since I was part of the demographic intended. Rugrats Runaway Reptar was new for me, even though I’ve been on the version at Carowinds and did not like it. This one felt a bit better for me, probably through random chance that I didn’t bang around as much however since this one also felt much more hurky-jerky than it needs to be, especially considering it isn’t at all fast. After that I headed over to the Fairly Odd Coaster (née Beastie, née Scooby Doo) just as a few light sprinkles started coming down. I could have sworn that this ride had a small tunnel at the bottom of the first drop at one point… (one minute later I see on the RCDB that it did in fact have a tunnel, which now raises the question why did they purposely decide to rid of it?) Shortly after disembarking that slightly wet ride the rain started to come down much harder. At first I headed over to the Beast only to find it closed, where I waited around for a few minutes before deciding to ditch it and head back to the car where my dad went to rest for an hour or so. On my way through I stopped at the Scooby Doo Haunted Mansion dark ride, which was the only ride so far as I could tell that was still open from the rain. I wasn’t really sure what to expect… this is the first dark ride I’ve been on that uses a continuous chain of cars that all move at the same speed, with riders boarding and exiting from a turntable similar to the old White Water Landing at Cedar Point. Props and story are pretty unimpressive, although that’s almost a requisite of any interactive dark ride just by their very nature, and that’s partly why I don’t buy a lot of the industry chatter that says that the future of theme parks is in more interactive entertainment. Well, I didn’t make any use of the shooter anyway because I was without competition and was planning on just taking pictures inside the whole thing, but only one picture into the ride the camera froze up and informed me it was out of memory space; apparently my dad forgot to tell me he still had several hundred photos from some random graduations and football games stored on there. Thankfully immediately after the ride I met up with him at the car and we deleted unnecessary photos, uploaded the first batch on my laptop, then, contemplating the permeating sour weather, decided to pack up for the afternoon and found a Subway nearby for lunch. I afterward called my mother to let her know how things were going and to see if she could look up the weather forecast to see if it would be like this throughout the rest of the evening. Happily she informed me that it appeared as though it might blow over within the next 30-45 minutes.

Shortly afterward we found ourselves re-entering the park and heading left toward Invertigo, which they opened the queue for right as we were walking up to it making us only second in line. Score! My favorite seat has always been second to the rear on the ride, the farthest back that’s facing forward on the first circuit. Not only do you get the best vertigo-inducing view straight down when climbing the first lift, my neuroses dictate that I should experience the ride first forward and then backward, as to do the opposite would not make much logical sense. I actually kind of disliked this particular ride- the positive g-forces and slight rattle in the cars really strained my neck and this was the closest I ever got to getting a headache from a coaster in a long time. Still, I must give huge props to Vekoma for the innovation of having riders sit face-to-face.

Exploring the ‘new’ park, the renaming of nearly every attraction that needed to be changed to avoid copyright infringement once their Paramount licensing was lost is frankly quite embarrassing. Top Gun’s transformation into “Flight Deck” or Drop Zone: Stunt Tower’s transformation into “Drop Tower” I think tells a lot about the attitude of the Cedar Fair management. Rather than re-brand their newly acquired Paramount Parks to be given a fresh identity to distinguish themselves from the old regime, Cedar Fair decided to find names that would allow them to both avoid re-themeing attractions AND avoid paying for even a trademark, let alone for licensing royalties. This is either genius or idiocy. Who ever thought that Flight Deck was even acceptable for a name? I’ll suspend my disbelief for a moment and believe that maybe they were having difficulty finding suitable alternative names that fit the fighter jet theme.

A): Why do they need to retain the old theme for the ride? What themeing did Top Gun really have to begin with that a simple paint scheme change couldn’t have transformed it into something new and unique? It’s a sparrow’s flight swooping through the backwoods, since when did the grey Naval themeing ever work to begin with? (Also the logos for the new names look like they’re bought in bulk)

B): Why would they want to retain the old theme for the ride? People overheard in the queues refer to the changeovers in park with the negative form of “it used to be Paramount” rather than a positive form of “it has a new identity”. There is no new identity to be found in the park, just an empty husk of the old one.

I’ll use those thoughts to transfer into my next couple reviews, starting with Top Gun… err, Flight Deck. This is probably one of the better suspended coasters devised. As I recall Canada’s Wonderland’s Vortex is the exact same layout but with shorter trains resulting in increased speed and swinging, but without quite as good, wooded terrain to work with, plus a very close fly-by of Son of Beast’s structure. The only grievance I have to levy against this ride is that it’s much too short. Like the mine rides, the original Arrow suspended coasters found a lot of their pleasures in having a lengthy, more complex ride with multiple lifts, whereas Flight Deck, after the first drop and elevated sharp first turn, is just an overdrive of back-and-forth fast paced swinging until it ends some 45 seconds later. Big Bad Wolf is probably the ride that combined the best the fast-paced nature of Flight Deck or Vortex with the longer, more complex layering found on the earlier suspendeds. Of course there’s also Eagle Fortress in South Korea which appears to be operating on an entirely different level altogether…

Next up is Drop Zone: Stunt Tower… err, Drop Tower (okay, I’ll stop doing that now). The line for this one had been really short on my last visit here in 2007, and while there was maybe a cycle’s wait for it this time around it really wasn’t bad at all. At least it gave us a chance to enjoy the tremendous gust of wind that blows through the queue just after that giant ring lands back on the boarding pad. I’m never quite sure of how I feel about these drop rides (except for the S&S towers, which are always lame unless they’re at Indiana Beach). On the one hand, especially on Kings Island’s version which features the extreme height and rotating ascension, I still become nervous. On the other, for a ride that’s basically nothing but a long build-up to an exciting climax, getting off I always have the feeling that the proceedings are somewhat anti-climactic.

This now leaves one final ride to be reviewed in the area and it’s a big one:

Son of Beast

The most egregious roller coaster dereliction since ever. What were the designers thinking… or smoking… or injecting into their arms… when they built this ride? This enormous heap of fail would make better use as recycled toilet paper to wipe my sorry behind with than anything even approaching a roller coaster.

Such are examples of comments amongst internet newsgroup members that reflect their personal feelings towards the Son of Beast. So hold on to your hats when you hear what I’m about to say… Son of Beast is nearly as good as Diamondback.

If you haven’t read my Diamondback analysis do so here as that may fit the above comment in better context. And I’ll admit, when I last experienced it before the accident and subsequent overhaul in 2004, it was bad. Really bad. The level of roughness was simply intolerable. This is one of those great ironies, since when the ride was first announced there was all this fuss over the trains Premier rides were designing for it, how they represented the most advanced, cutting edge design for wooden roller coaster trains, how they were by far the safest coaches ever designed for a woody and included features to ensure the best ride experience such as wheels that contained a layer of shock absorption. While a seemingly impressive technical background it proved very short-sighted in terms of safety, apparently occurring to no one that so much advanced design and technology would make the cars very heavy and inflexible, chewing up the soft wooden track and putting it in horrible maintenance condition, while the riders would receive every bump and jolt from said deteriorating track.

But all that’s behind the ride now, unfortunately the signature vertical loop has been removed, but the ride has received a complete re-tracking and new lightweight trains, so of course it will continue to be bashed by the enthusiast community with extreme discrimination. Honestly, the ride’s no longer uncomfortable. I’m not sure why I’m still reading reviews that say it is, since on my three rides on the new Son of Beast (in 2007 and 2009, twice in the back and once in the front) all were totally tolerable. The biggest disappointment is that the new trains, while fine, are relocated from Myrtle Beach’s former Hurricane wooden coaster rather than purchased specifically for this ride. Two standard, six car trains on a coaster this scale? On the plus side stacking is rarely a problem, and thanks to the rides poor reputation lines weren’t out of control long, but still the wait seemed to be moving very slow. Apparently RCCA (the builders of the coaster itself) messed up the blocking configuration badly so the main brake run can only function as a single block instead of a double, thereby eliminating the feasibility of a three train operation. But still, this ride is calling for seven or eight car trains instead of a simple six.

The first part of the new coaster is quite amazing, starting with a short pre-lift section that drops a good 50 feet and lets you get a good look at the massive size of what’s to come as you slowly, inevitably make the rounds to that colossal lift, an intimidation factor that seems sadly missing from many other large-scale coasters including Diamondback. The lift is loud, dangerously so. Plug your ears on the way up because while it may not lead to any immediate lawsuits the way the track collapsing did in 2006, the overall long term damage done to people’s eardrums likely exceeds any damage done from that singular, attention grabbing incident. After the crest, instead of diving straight down, the coaster teases us once more with another amazing tension-building showoff. I must wonder who during the design process thought that it was an efficient use of resources to design it with such a wide turn right off the top of the lift when you’re having to support it 200 ft. in the air. But since they did, we at least now have one of the most impressive coaster structures to look at, and it’s a great build-up to that first drop as well. The drop and speeds feel incredibly amplified by the wooden nature of the ride, not at all rough on the pullout (in fact it probably equals the smoothness of many Gravity Group or Great Coasters projects), but the slight edge lent from the wooden track makes just the raw speed feel much more intense than anything else found this side of Top Thrill Dragster.

The next hill that leads into the gigantic double helix is still a show-stopper. This ride might not focus much on sharp dynamic contrasts and intense forces the way others would but frankly for this element it doesn’t need to. In the back especially there seems to be a sort of ‘hunting’ effect in the train as if it’s trying to come off the tracks. Again, never uncomfortable, but very unnerving and a real display of power this ride has. I love it.

Unfortunately after the helix is where the ride for the most part ends. There is then a very long (and useless) mid course block brake, before diving down towards where the loop used to be. There’s now a slight s-curve hill which is far too reserved to provide anything interesting. The second helix buried behind the lift structure pales compared to the first, and I would almost criticize it for being too smooth. Still, just being encased in the shadow of such a magnificent structure is interesting enough, and there’s some pretty good head choppers on the exit. The final hill, turn around and rise into the brakes are just worthless. Oversized, forceless and none of the signature speed and power found in the first part of the coaster.

Some have suggested that Intamin’s plug-and-play wood coaster design should be retrofitted to the ride to make it great. A good idea and an improvement to be sure, but I feel that would make the coaster just a lesser version of Diamondback, since very little air or other strong forces would be found along the course. The ride isn’t just about 200 ft. tall drops and 78 mph speeds, it’s about 200 ft. tall drops and 78 mph speeds taken with raw, untamed wooden coaster technology. What I think would work well to make the ride the top-tener it potentially could be would be if Kings Island could hire the Gravity Group to do a second extensive re-working of the ride. I’m sure another surface retracking wouldn’t hurt especially with GG’s techniques. Mostly I would like to see the addition of some 14 or 16 bench Timberliner trains added to both increase capacity and improve the riding experience while still maintaining the wooden coaster edge. They could also hopefully re-build the main brake sequence so it could accommodate three trains. I’m also fairly certain that the Timberliners might feature secure enough restraints (haven’t seen a finished version of them yet) that maybe the loop could be restored? The second half of the ride just has so little going for it, and without the loop the coaster still feels a bit too close to Diamondback. More pie-in-the-sky hopes, but I’d like to see the track after the second helix completely razed and build from scratch a new finale featuring a much tighter, forceful Gravity Group design to finish off the ride. That’s pretty much all wistful thinking, probably I should be grateful if Kings Island ever decides to swap out anti-roll backs on the lift for something quieter. If nothing else, Gravity Group could replace just a couple washers and the ride would automatically gain more sympathy from enthusiast communities.

One last major coaster I forgot to mention is Vortex. I was hoping to score several Vortex rides since every time I go to Kings Island, despite short lines and possibly being my second favorite ride in the park, I somehow manage to miss this one after getting only a ride or two in. This is my favorite of the large-scale Arrow multi-loopers. The Great American Scream Machine on paper would seem to be a better ride, but that one has a problem of seemingly running out of speed and height very rapidly, so that by the final corkscrews the ride feels no larger than a standard double corkscrew model. Vortex makes great use of moments that build in momentum, rather than lose it. First there’s the first drop, which rather than a twisting drop found on the other mega-loopers, Vortex features a tight, flat turn that whips into a straight, steep, kind of scary, ejector laden first drop if you’re in the back, which is where I’m almost always found. Instead of blasting through a first vertical loop in mere seconds, the ride takes it’s time with a large swooping curve, holding the inversions until later. Out of the turn is a long, descending straightaway that builds momentum and anticipation as it surges into the tight double loops. After the loops is another terrifying moment, the ultra-sharp turn of death that leads into the midcourse. How such a sharp turn is managed to be taken at such high speeds and not result in whiplash is beyond me, but I always have to think, “oh shit, not going to make it this time” right before we blow through this turn with ease. Going back to that motif of building momentum established with the first straightaway into the loops, this second half of the ride featuring four inversions is basically one continuous buildup until it’s over. First the corkscrews, not only do they dangle us high above the ground but they’re threaded improbably between the two loops. The train picks up speed quickly out of these and enters the signature batwing element, the most unique and intense singular element found on the ride, and partially buried in a trench for added effect. The only moment that does not serve the ride well is the final helix, but it’s not a problem since it doesn’t detract from other elements but simply acts as a bonus after the would-be finale of the batwing.

Unfortunately we found upon re-entering the park after the rain storm that for some inexplicable reason every coaster in the park was reduced to one-train operation, with the exception of Beast and Diamondback (and I think Backlot Stunt Coaster; never went on that one) which were down to two, although Diamondback was suffering from some mechanical problems before the storm which could have also been part of the cause. Vortex and Son of Beast definitely suffered the most for this; what was a queue that didn’t even leave the station ended up taking nearly 25 minutes to get through, so unfortunately it was only one ride on this visit as well. We wrapped up the night with two rides on Diamondback (could have managed more, but again, the reduced capacity really slowed things down; the train was being held on the main brake run instead of the one right behind the station as it normally is, so the time it took to get off the main run, make the turnaround and back into the station after the other train dispatched held things up a great deal) and then three on the Beast, which didn’t have much of any line, thankfully, although they did hold up the entire ride for a good twenty minutes when there were only two cycles left to load because they were launching the nightly fireworks from back near the ride area; apparently the fear is we’ll all catch on fire if they run it while the fireworks are going, and then they had to send maintenance around the ride just to make sure it hadn’t burned down.

After last rides we left to drive to our Louisville hotel that night for Six Flags Kentucky Kingdom the next day.

I’ll just say it straight out– I’ve never really understood the appeal of airtime. Extremely sharp ejector air that creates a sensation of unnerving danger and intensity, as found on Magnum or Phantom’s Revenge? Sure. Airtime used as a device over the length of an entire ride to add depth and complexity to the ride’s progression, as found on the Phoenix or Shivering Timbers? You betcha! But the sustained-for-as-long-as-possible, airtime-for-the-sake-of-airtime type of air? Vastly overrated, in my opinion.

There, I’ve just admitted I’m an automaton with no soul. Now you have to read the rest of this review so you can try to decipher the secret code embedded in it that details my plans to take over the entire world in a very Michael Bay sort of way.

But seriously, why all the fanatical enthusiasm for simply experiencing a few seconds of weightlessness? Removed of any external context, to exist in a zero g-force environment seems just as banal and meaningless as a one g-force environment. I look at myself and think, “Great, now I’m in zero-g’s, what am I supposed to do with this?” Obviously in some absolute, experiential way they are different effects, but so is a one decibel sound wave compared to silence. That doesn’t mean it‘s any closer to being a great piece of music; isolated all by itself it’s simply nothing, white noise. I have a similar relationship to g-forces.

Before I alienate too many of my readers, I can perhaps relate to the sense of relief felt at having the normal forces constantly yanking on my bones and internal organs to be lifted for a brief moment and allow me to enjoy total freedom. I realize that is a crucial distinction that can only be achieved through pure, unfiltered weightlessness. Except for I still always have this huge freakin’ lapbar pinning me down in my seat, but most enthusiasts seem to try to forget it’s there the best they can.

Having now established the philosophical perspective from which I will critique the new-for-2009 Diamondback, it should be all too easy to draw the conclusion that the ride is nothing more than a vacuous heap of shit, albeit precision-engineered, 22-million dollar shit. Not so fast. From my singular ride on Nitro last year, despite the fact that it too is not much more than an arbitrary collection perfectly parabolic hills and geometrically-consistent spirals plugged into each other, I was considerably impressed (somewhat to my own bewilderment; I’m still hoping that it was because I just was glad to get out out of that awful queue). I’d also love more than anything to return to Busch Gardens Europe to try Apollo’s Chariot again, as looking at the splendid use of terrain and small design quirks that set up certain moments, I could see placing that one in my top 10 steel if the mood strikes me right next time. And I wouldn’t dare argue that there is a better riding coach imaginable than B&M’s. Diamondback could easily surpass those two examples, combining the pure scale of Nitro with the terrain aspects of Apollo’s Chariot into one incredible package. I guess there’s only one way to find out…

We’re in the front row on our first ride of the season, climbing the lift hill. Unlike Son of Beast, which playfully teases us with several dips and turns before committing to the first drop, Diamondback is not interested in such theatrics and is committed to transporting us to the apex of the first drop as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Speaking of efficacy, I cannot let it go unnoted that the wait for Diamondback that morning was less than 15 minutes long, and what small line they did have moved. It might be four seats fewer than its older speed coaster brethren, but while waiting in line Diamondback might as well have 15-car trains based on how quickly they shipped trains out of that station and loaded new guests in. On most B&M coasters a midcourse block-brake is more of a formality, but on Diamondback they use it, one train dropping off the lift before the other has even made it to the final brakes, and they keep this pace up the entire day. The one drawback is that Queue Nazis are frequently present, ordering us into whatever goddamn row they feel like and if we’ve got a problem with their selection we can go suck a lemon. Great if you’re looking to book as many rides as possible in a day, but if you’re more particular with where on the train you plant your keister like I generally am, well… Thankfully on our first ride a second attendant had to step in briefly while the Nazi on duty was off momentarily to re-arrange some derelicts that ignored orders, and that attendant was kind enough to grant us a front row request.

On a second visit to the park in August I discovered that the single rider queue is another extremely useful feature, getting me onto the ride on an average of less than ten minutes, provided several teenage groups didn’t decide to use it instead of the regular line (ahem, guys, it says “single riders only”, why do I need to wait for all ten of you to fill valuable empty spots?).

I was quite concerned at first that the V-style seating represented a further step in isolating and alienating the riders from each other, placing a focus the individual’s own self-absorbed riding experience, rather than a collective one to be joyously shared with friends and strangers alike. Innumerable times while at the modern theme park I secretly think to myself, “I would be so much better off if these people around me didn’t exist”, and this type of seating arrangement could be seen as a concession (and reinforcement) to that mindset rather than subverting it altogether in a way the Phoenix does.

It actually works great, the non-intrusive restraints keep it easy to be aware and converse with the people next to you (as on a standard B&M speed coaster setup), but also across the train diagonally, the open-air V-pattern allowing visual communication with people up to three rows ahead of you. At the same time, this design allows more personal space to enjoy the ride on one’s own terms, and to clearly view the elements and surrounding scenery without having a huge headrest just a few feet in front of you. The seats and restraints are the most comfortable imaginable without sacrificing any safety or loading efficiency. Tipped back, lifting feet off the floor, a clamshell pillow restraint that does not understand the meaning of the word ‘staple’ even if you try…

The train crests the first drop. I find myself quite underwhelmed by this initial plunge. The only seats that do anything for me are the front, where I can hang for a few seconds looking straight down the drop, and towards the back, where there’s a bit of airtime. Even in this case, it’s really only the slight lift out of my seat that makes this element anything interesting, and any sensations of falling or extreme steepness seem somewhat muted. When I first saw the video of the ride I thought this looked like one of B&M’s best first drop profiles, with a long pull-over that reaches maximum steepness very close to the ground, before pulling out hard with very little transitional track. That is still kind of true, but the long pull-over reduces the forward angular rotation normally associated with steep first drops, and the resulting sensation is one that kind of keeps on going down until you hit the bottom, with not much else to it other than that. The pullout is somewhat strong, probably the highest positive g section on the ride (which isn’t saying much) but again I’m just somewhat disappointed by the speed and power to be found here.

The coaster’s statistics officially list maximum height: 230’, but then it lists length of first hill: 222’, and length of first drop: 215’, so I’m not positive what all that’s really suppose to mean. Regardless, when Kings Island announced the ride in 230 ft. range, I thought of a design that found a comfortable median between the scales of Magnum and Millennium Force. The truth is with a 215’ drop, the scale, speed and power seem to better approximate any one of the “basic 200 ft. hyper coasters”, rather than the “deluxe hyper coasters” that clearly go beyond the simple 200 ft. mark; after all, 215’ is within jumping distance of rides like Magnum or Raging Bull.

After the drop we surge up to crest the first hill. Seeing as the ride is not much more than a series of perfectly parabolic hills strung together with the intention of each providing the longest sustained airtime with however much speed it has, I might as well spend a bit of time analyzing exactly what kind of air this is. Although I clearly do not purport to be an airtime aficionado, I’m frequently surprised to find how many enthusiasts out there are unaware that there are more than two flavors of air. ‘Floater’ and ‘ejector’ air only describes the strength of the upward lift directly on the passenger; floater hangs around 0 g’s, while ejector probably describes g-forces in the range lower than -0.3. Diamondback was mostly floater, although I was surprised to find some borderline sustained ejector over at least the first two hills (that at least quelled one of my worries that the ride would pace too slow as B&M coasters are wont to do). What are the other qualities to this air?

Ignoring the direct uplift forces the rider experiences, look at the shaping of the hill to help determine just what kind of airtime you’re in for. Diamondback’s hills are pointed, the radius tightening exponentially as it approaches the top. This tells me the train will be approaching zero miles per hour near the tops of the hill, and that B&M designed these hills to get the most vertical difference out of them as well, opposed to a ride with lower airtime hills and more consistently fast speed. It’s a myth that all camelback hills that feature perfectly sustained airtime have that distinct parabolic curve you probably learned about in high school physics class. Intamin is a classic counter-example of this. Observe their airtime hills and you’ll note two things. One; they appear much more circular in shaping than B&M’s (look no further than El Toro, or perhaps Millennium Force if you want an example in floater air), and two; they have a much higher rate of speed over the top. Because the relative change in speed is much less when the train begins the crest of a hill at, say 60mph and slows to 40mph at the zenith (compared to B&M where you might be going less than 20mph at the top), this means that the radius must be much more consistent in order to produce even g-forces.

So what? It’s perfect floater in either case, what does this analysis mean for me when I’m riding Diamondback?

It means that you go up much higher and have much steeper drops on the camelback hills. It means that the speed is much more uneven, creating a greater distinction between the wind in your face at the bottoms and the slow sailing over the tops. It also plays with your inner-ear much more. Although physically you may be pulled at -0.2 g’s over the entire length of the hill, careful attention to your inner ear can create a very different experience from the flatter, faster variety of airtime hill. Cresting the top at a tight radius and lower speeds more quickly changes your orientation to earth (resulting in greater forward rotational forces), and when you’re falling back down, because the angle is steeper, the uplift is along the forward z-axis rather than the usual upward y-axis, created more by the fact that we’re accelerating while facing straight down rather than from centrifugal forces exerted outwards by the curvature of the hill.

Hey, this ride almost sounds interesting! And it should get even more interesting since on the decent of this second hill is when the terrain starts to come into play. The drop reaches down 193 feet into one of the park’s ravines, which is also where that maximum speed of 80 miles per hour is achieved. Does this sound familiar? It appears as though Kings Island was trying to put this big, graceful Beemer on a similar level creatively with Phantom’s Revenge, and with an entire layout extending out into the same wooded landscape that the Beast occupies. Just from writing that I want to put this coaster on my top ten list. Diamondback is positively brimming with potential to be one of the few truly great modern steel coasters.

So why is it when we’re pulling out of this second drop, I’m still feeling incredibly underwhelmed? Did we even just drop down a natural ravine? Funny, I never would have guessed.

Yes, it would seem that when Cedar Fair and B&M get together, there is no limit to how incredibly mediocre they can make an otherwise great concept. When rumors were first gathering about Diamondback there seemed to be no limit to the possibilities. I think a 260 ft. third drop down a 100 ft. ravine was originally part of the ride’s rumored equation, and B&M have at least proved themselves capable at making a large-scale ride well integrated with the natural surroundings once in a blue moon with coasters like Apollo’s Chariot or (almost) Wildfire. That might have been hoping for a little too much under even the best of circumstances, but still, imagine how amazing it would be, riding a coaster with the power and grace of a B&M speed coaster through the same rugged, natural landscape that made the Beast famous. Keep on imagining because that coaster was never even close to being built.

The ‘ravine’ has been completely clear-cut within 20 yards of the track, graded into a shallow dip in the terrain that allows the coaster maybe ten feet of extra dropping space, and paved over with a system of blacktop maintenance roads wide enough for two-lane traffic. Without looking at the land from the Crypt exit, I’d barely be able to tell there was any uneven terrain at all, and the tracking is so smooth and consistently designed the few extra MPH are used to achieve precisely jack-squat. Instead of trees and tangled brush rushing past along the ground-level stretches of track, there’s chain-link fence and gravel, although Kings Island was so kind enough to plant neatly manicured grass over the acres of cleared woodland the ride runs along that’s not occupied by concrete or gravel. If you don’t strain your neck too hard to notice the thick line of trees on the horizon one could probably be duped into feeling as though they’re on a parking lot coaster. With the Crypt and a large open field on the left side, it doesn’t even feel like you start to approach the woods until the dive after the second camelback hill into the far turn around. I never was expecting a ride from B&M and Cedar Fair to really have too much regard for the terrain surrounding it, but what’s there is essentially my worst-case scenario for how this coaster could have used the land, and neither B&M nor Kings Island seem to care.

While it might be better than sitting in the bleak void of empty space with no points of reference whatsoever, saying that having the tree line cut back 15 yards further is just a minor disappointment is a big understatement. On Diamondback the tree line becomes a uniform wall in the background, while on a ride like the Beast, the trees seem close enough in areas that a fundamental perception about the woods is changed; it becomes a major element of the ride, altering the sense of spatial relations and putting the eye and brain on sensory overload as it tries to process the complex and ever-changing texture to the surroundings. I’d be curious to see if any official research has been done on the subject but I think a ‘magic distance’ the tree line must be within in order to distinguish between the two vastly different experiences of traveling through the trees verses traveling past the trees. It seems like there should be, as I imagine it’s the effect of parallax that creates these different sensations, and with trees planted within a few feet of each other in most woods, I’d estimate that it’s a fairly precise dividing line, one that Diamondback falls way outside of.

I’ve now spent nearly a full page on Microsoft Word bitching about wasted use of landscape which probably only myself really cares about, so I’ll get back to dissecting the layout. It’s quite standard for a B&M Speed Coaster, with pretty much nothing to analyze from a pacing, timing or progression point of view. I appreciate that the way out has two full camelback hills instead of just one, since one of my beefs with the generic Speed Coaster design is they only have one full hill before the turnaround, making the ride feel very short. Maybe I’m just too accustomed to Shivering Timbers, but by my own criteria a coaster doesn’t qualify as an out-and-back until there has been more than one hill before the turnaround, preferably three. So while Diamondback isn’t quite all there, it’s better than Behemoth or Apollo’s Chariot (at least in that regard), and I imagine the balance of two straight, airtime laden hills work better as an opening act than either Nitro or Silver Star’s one-curved-one-straight hill approach.

The coaster’s smoothness is commendable, but not exquisite. It seems no matter when and where I rode Diamondback, the front always offered a smoother ride than the back row, which featured some shaking on the higher-speed pullouts. I almost preferred this when I visited in May, since the ride is so controlled that at times it can be difficult to tell that you’re even moving faster than 55. Later in August, however, the entire trains had picked up some bad trembling. Diamondback was still far and away the smoothest coaster in the park, but on those other rides, a bit of roughness is to be expected, that’s simply part of the riding experience, without it they become boring. Since B&M’s track work places so much emphasis on mathematical precision, the slightest vibration can detract from the style of ride they’re going for. I think it was just a case of the wheels started to get some minor deformities after more than a half-season of use, perhaps they were parked on the track in the same position for too long, causing the contact point with the track to flatten a little bit (this is partly why the storage shed parks the trains on a series of rollers resting on their undercarriage).

Does seating make a difference to the sort of air experienced? The front might surprise some by really launching them out of their seat as they begin to crest, but this momentum isn’t long sustained before they end up hanging forward into the front of their restraints on the way down. I prefer the back overall, because the hill builds in intensity very consistently over the entire crest, from remaining firm in one’s seat at the start of the crest, mild floater at the crest, and then semi-strong ejector all the way down to the pullout. One of my more interesting rides in terms of quality of airtime was when I was placed in the mathematical center of the train; the precision engineering of the hills was incredibly present, and at the same time I wondered why B&M spend so much time fine-tuning their geometry when the long trains they use horribly distort their effects anywhere outside of a few seats near the middle.

We now arrive at the turnaround, which should be rather awesome, banked well past the ninety-degree mark, but it somehow comes up a bit flat. Maybe it’s all contained in too singular of a movement, sweeping up, around and back down without any change in dynamics throughout the entire maneuver. The positive g-forces remain incredibly even and unforceful, and there’s only the slightest hint of rotational motion as the train swoops around the top in one fluid motion.

From here it charges up into the third camelback hill, but not before passing over the rides first trim brake on the way up. In May it let us through without a hitch, in August we got grabbed a little. It doesn’t matter too much because the midcourse is just past the next curve anyway, but especially when the trim is on it makes this third camelback feel a lot like a throwaway element. It’s designed and profiled to produce the exact same dynamics as the first two, only it’s not as tall or as fast, so it really can only pale in comparison to what was just experienced without bringing anything new to the table… except for being situated underneath the second camelback. On the one hand, that introduces some light headchopper effects, on the other, it only highlights how much smaller this element is than the previous one. This third camelback also acts as the stand-alone element that separates the two turnarounds, so from a layout viewpoint it doesn’t contribute anything to the rest of the ride, other than to exist on its own for a solitary moment of air.

Now we have the spiral into the midcourse brake run. Hmm, for a ride that’s focused on airtime it’s rather hard to get more than two moments before it has to waste time and track on some sort of turn. Nitro uses a midcourse spiral in a similar fashion, but to much greater effect. That spiral stands as a high g-force extended centerpiece to the ride, whereas Diamondback’s is just there to get us up to the midcourse brake. It does not stand as a centerpiece, taking about the same time to complete as every other element along the first part of the course, and produces next to no g-forces or dynamics contrast. If the middle camelback was a throwaway element, this one’s turning the return course into a veritable garbage dump, although thankfully this trend is not completely continued to the end of the coaster.

The midcourse also grabs a little, but we crest the drop with more speed than I think Behemoth has at this point in the ride, and the long straight drop down into the ravine jumpstarts the pace into forward momentum again after a lackluster denouement from the spiral and brake run, even providing a strong kick of air if you’re in the back.

We pull up into the first of the two returning air hills. I have mixed feelings about these, and their placement after the ravine drop off the midcourse brake. They pull up really short (the train tracks run under one and the Crypt entrance beneath the other, so rather than adjust the design B&M had them pull up twenty feet above the ground to simply build over these landmarks) and they feel disappointingly small in comparison to the large ravine drop that seemed to promise us more for a finale. However, being so much smaller they do provide a slightly different feel. More rounded in overall profiling, they provide a tighter “up, around and over” forward rotational motion that distinguishes them from the large camelback hills in the first part of the ride, and the timing between elements is picking up a little here through use of the raised pull ups, although it’s still all pretty slow. If I’m really desperate to find more to analyze about these hill’s meaning in the overall context of the coaster, I could say they also mirror the two large camelback hills that opened the ride before things got disjointed with the hammerhead turn, camelback and upward spiral that all only exist for layout requirements.

Speaking of things that only exist for layout requirements, we now have a second upward spiral. After riding this twenty times I still can find no reason for this maneuver to exist on its own, it really does nothing for the rider. Although closing one’s eyes during the ride can always produce an experience approaching a highway drive, it’s this element in particular that comes closest to actually feeling like I’m napping in the car. Hold your arms straight out and you can faintly feel a force pulling them downward, otherwise nothing. It’s not just the forcelessness that’s a problem, but all of these spirals and turnarounds completely break flow from what should be an airtime-centric coaster. Looking at the overhead drawing of the layout that was first leaked many months ago these semi-helices made sense (it needs to turn another 73 degrees to the left to get it to line up with the station, why not throw in a 287 degree right helix instead?) but from a rider’s perspective these are pointless distractions.

Thankfully this one serves a bit more purpose than the previous spiral which only acts as an anticlimactic entry into the brake run, while this one at least sets up the final dive into the pond. I actually think this pond dive works rather well despite being a flat stretch of track that would seem to end the coaster with a moment that’s there more for the onlookers than the riders. Sit in the very back row and you can catch a lot of water that shoots up mere inches behind you in scarily impressive quantities. Also, after spending an entire ride with 20 foot clearances on all sides it’s nice to end the coaster with a moment that finally gives some immediacy to the surroundings (if the seats weren’t raised so high I feel I could easily skim the toe of my shoe along the water’s surface).

However, like other aspects of Diamondback, this pond dive probably worked better as an abstract, Platonic ideal when it was on the drawing boards and featured in the preview animations; the actual execution of this feature is probably the most disappointing of all the possible Diamondback pond dives that could exist in alternate realities, save for the one in which it’s filled with acid rain and/or leeches. A shallow, clearly artificial concrete basin is set in the middle of a cleared grassy field, a huge buffer between the splashdown and any viewable midway. If the splashdown is not going to be an interactive centerpiece like it is on SheiKra and Griffon, why is it also made to look so cheap and unnatural from a distance? I know it’s a cliché but landscaping in Cedar Fair’s vocabulary seems to be limited to four words: grass, gravel, woodchips and shrubs. To their credit they don’t leave exposed concrete around like the old Six Flags regime was notorious for, but criminy their grounds are starting to look like cheapo suburban homeowner’s lawn projects. I strongly suspect that landscaping is never a topic discussed amongst the managers when budgets are approved, and that a modest but workable budget is simply afforded yearly to the park’s landscaping departments, to which the landscapers are then left to only their own devices to decide how to keep the areas around new rides as well as the parks in general in presentable form, with little to no authority to do anything beyond that. I also suspect that this is why the terrain around Diamondback’s out leg suffered so badly, as it wasn’t in Adena Corp’s interests to preserve any trees or hillsides around the site besides the minor ravine dive that was part of B&M’s specifications, and after construction was over the landscapers did what little they could so it wouldn’t be running over flat dirt. In some ways I almost think leaving the land around the ride as open dirt fields might be more beneficial in the long run. The back of Michigan’s Adventure was a similar sandy field for many years, but recently the area has been reclaimed by the native flora and it’s quite a beautiful backdrop to the rides now, with many species of Michigan wildflowers and tall grass filling in the areas not occupied by growing trees. I think the area around Diamondback could easily have the same look if only the park didn’t try so hard making it look manicured and, well, boring.

This criticism extends to the station, queue and entire “new” Rivertown as well. I’ve heard some early reporters claim that the area looks great, which having visited in person I’m convinced they are mistakenly confusing with the term “new”. Yes, the area all looks very “new” and “polished”, but nothing about it suggests that it will look like anything other than a second-rate funfair once a few years have gone by and the endless rows of the same wooden fences and boxy queue lines haphazardly planted over grassy fields start showing a bit of age. The station house in particular is a true let-down, clearly trying to impersonate similar rustic houses from rides like the Beast and Maverick, but without any constraints requiring creative solutions, the architecture is as bland and solely functional as it could be imagined, the only hint that this is even supposed to be an old west setting is the wood paneling deliberately cut at uneven angles (I’m positive if still alive today, many settlers of the western expansion would take exception to the atrociously bad carpentry skills theme parks always seem to credit them for, especially when the wooden boards that are haphazardly nailed in at hilariously skewed angles have clearly been cut and treated by a modern sawmill).

And that reminds me of another point that’s irked me ever since the ride was announced—hello, Rivertown isn’t themed to the old west! I suppose that’s what we can expect when executives are only thinking in the broadest established genres in the industry, but for a themed area iconic for dense temperate forests and riverside lumberyards, I’m not sure where they got the idea that a desert reptile would be “fitting in”. I still suppose it’s a step in the right direction after the previous management thought Tomb Raider and the Italian Job were perfect franchise tie-ins to fit the area. The only creative touch on Diamondback I can slightly commend is the look of the zero-car on the trains. The snake head design that even includes fangs on the underside makes Diamondback one of the few modern coasters where the trains strongly identify which coaster they belong to without the use of a single stick-on logo. With that I think I’ve finally run out of notes in my mental notebook I wanted to comment on so I move on to the summary of what all the pages of content above were leading to:

-

Diamondback is by no stretch of the imagination a bad ride (indeed I found there was no place else I’d rather be on a Sunday afternoon when the single rider queue promised re-rides in less than ten minutes), but the finished product is as underwhelming as $22 million dollars worth of B&M terrain speed coaster could conceivably be. It’s the output of a system where the only inputs come from business people and engineers, each mostly concerned with their own sets of numbers, and whose few creative responsibilities to the attraction manifest themselves in predictable, high-concept ideas, such as utilizing a swan pond for a splashdown finale or making some use of the terrain… and even these concepts fail to reach their full potential since after they are envisioned there’s nothing in the system to check that they aren’t perverted from their ideal during the construction process. The layout is clearly designed for whatever fits best on the blueprints rather than what the riders should be experiencing at any given moment. Even if it’s only there to provide as much uninterrupted airtime as possible (an approach I personally would disapprove of, although I might praise the level of focus devoted to a singular task), Diamondback may disappoint since true camelback hills are spaced few and far between pointless curving maneuvers that are there just because they are, with only two ‘really good’ moments provided before the coaster shows signs of slowing down, and of course being a B&M project they do little to compensate for the loss of speed. Closing one’s eyes reveals an experience that chooses, without regard to any other subtleties, to oscillate as evenly as possible between 2 g’s and 0, except for when it randomly goes from 2 g’s to the 1.5 in a turn instead. That is not a great coaster experience! While it can’t be said that it doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do perfectly, any time businesspeople and engineers throw $22 million at a project with only a vague notion of what it is they should be accomplishing with it, that’s sort of the least we can expect.

Alright, so since I’m such the brainiac what might I have done differently to make a better ride experience? I would have started by asking “what is this coaster really about”, and then pouring as much emphasis into those qualities as possible. Ideally, smooth speeds, airtime and use of the natural geography. Just behind where the far hammerhead turnaround resides, there is a huge drop-off into a valley that probably totals well over 100 feet in height difference. The only genuine excuse I can think of that the park might have not taken advantage of this fantastic landscaping is there are some power lines that run along this valley that maybe Kings Island couldn’t get permission to build near (maybe they don’t even own the land beyond that turnaround, although given how far back the Beast goes I’d be surprised to hear that’s the case). Using all of that, here’s the alternative Diamondback layout I’d propose:

Start the station farther back inside the park so the start of the lift spans the Rivertown midway, not the first drop. I know it’s less dramatic for onlookers but I need a way to let the layout extend farther back into the wood without simply making it longer, besides I would argue that the present configuration is perhaps too attention-grabbing, plus doing so save more space inside the park for potential future additions. Have the first drop extend down into that original ravine, so that a much more impressive 235 foot plunge with 80+mph speeds can be achieved on the first drop, which can also be made steeper. Build the second camelback more or less as it presently is, finishing about where the pullout into the hammerhead turn is; this second drop will naturally be much shorter than the first not having a ravine, giving the illusion that the ride is losing momentum. Now, up the second tall camelback hill (remember, B&M’s shaping allows these hills to maximize heights while maintaining 0 g’s) and into the third drop: use that gigantic valley, and let that train keep falling until the drop passes at least the 240 foot mark and speeds go into and beyond the “holy shit!” range, especially when trees are whizzing by at close proximity. From here the coaster would transform into a manic ground level flight through the woods, a turnaround at the bottom of the drop sending us back toward the general direction the station is located without us really knowing it, having lost our orientation in the thick forest in much the same way as the Beast. Some quick and unpredictable direction changes hidden by the trees aside, because we’ve been taken farther out than the actual version of Diamondback the returning run would be much more lean and straight-shot, eliminating the two spirals to save track. After that fast and furious (and unforgettably unique, and top ten worthy) sprint through the woods, the ride would suddenly regain altitude as it must climb back up the ravine, the midcourse brake run positioned here. A straight series of at least three classic airtime hills to wrap up the ride with (not just two) might lead to a pond splashdown that’s instead located on the outside perimeter of the back midway, dragging plenty of mist along to spectators, rising up from the pond over the midway into the brakes. This design not only makes use of nearly the same lift height and track length specifications of the original, while saving a bit on steel supports by reducing the number of tall hills (should please the construction people), but also will put it in the Guinness Top Ten list of fastest coasters and longest drops (should please the marketing people), and also featuring a far better, more original layout that not only features more speed and extended weightlessness (should please the enthusiast people), but dramatic progression and dynamics shifts along the arc of the ride experience (should please pretentious, over-analytical assholes like me).

What kind of animal is the Beast supposed to be? It’s been thirty years since its debut, and I don’t believe a clear answer has ever been given to that question. All that’s known is it has two orange-furred, five-clawed paws reaching out from the vanishing point along the track, where the titular lettering rests. What if that lettering was removed and we could see its face? Would we see some sort of feline? Canine? Bear? Chimera?

It’s been thirty years since its debut, and I don’t believe that question has ever been asked because there’s no need to. What waits for us beyond those claws doesn’t need to be filled in by our mind’s eye, everything we need is all there. The Beast is the unknown. It’s the darkness of the night that threatens to engulf us, swallow us whole and spit out our bones. The Beast doesn’t terrify because it’s right in front of you, it terrifies because it’s around the next corner, just out of sight.

The Beast has traditionally been regarded as one of the greatest wooden coasters ever built, but within the past decade there has been a backlash from the newer generation of coaster enthusiasts who dismiss the ride because, despite its record length, it doesn’t appear to do much. There’s no airtime hills, no tight transitions or convoluted layout. There are some laterals, most notably at the double helix finale, but even these are sparsely found between looooooooong straightaways that, by all modern criteria, are simply dead space.

To understand the Beast requires that one throw away all expectations and prior knowledge of what makes a good coaster. The Beast isn’t about g-forces, intense pacing or anything of that nature. Other coasters are championed for being radical when they include some extreme variation on those traditions, such as the Voyage with its bounty of extreme banking and drops. The Beast is the only coaster that I would ever call truly radical, because rather than take a pre-established idea to an extreme conclusion, it forces me to rethink the very elemental properties of what makes a good coaster. The Voyage cannot make that claim. That is why the Beast still is the greatest wooden roller coaster ever built.

“Sure,” says Timmy the coaster enthusiast, “I could appreciate a long classic ride out in the woods; that might even be top ten for me. But the Beast is not that coaster. There are too many dead sections of track. It may be a good coaster based on the few merits it has, but there could theoretically be a better coaster that featured air hills where there are flat sections, GCI-like twists and turns where there are only level, wide-radius curves.”

“No,” I reply. “That would be a worse coaster”

The Beast is just that radical.

The Beast ride I am going to describe is one that takes place on a busy summer weekend evening; it is both your first ride on the Beast and the last ride of the night, after spending all day riding the fun but uninspired and excruciatingly high-concept Diamondback. The ride begins not at the top of the first lift, not when it first leaves the station, nor when you first board the train, but before you even enter the queue. No coaster hides itself from public view as well as the Beast. Especially as enthusiasts, think about how much information we glean from watching a coaster from off-ride before riding it ourselves. Even if it’s only a first drop or final set of curves that’s visible, it automatically makes the experience that awaits us that much more finite, having been reigned in from the uncharted possibilities by seeing part of it in the flesh (or wood) with our own two eyes. The best the Beast gives us before boarding is the image of the train disappearing from the top of the lift, and everything that happens after it is left to the imagination until actually sitting above those two rails ourselves. In all the years that I’ve known the Beast, I’ve never seen for myself the ‘meat’ of the ride from a spectator’s perspective. Everything I know firsthand about the drops, tunnels and final helix were gathered from only a first-person vantage. Psychologically that’s an extremely different relationship to have with a coaster.

The information it does give away to potential riders in line is craftily manipulated. When first entering the queue, all that’s visible is the very top of the lift from a distance, as well as a bit of the turnaround out of the station. The queue housing is quite tight and even a bit claustrophobic at times, well protected from the elements but also limiting the field of view. It’s on the ramp upwards to the station that the first up-close glimpse of the Beast happens, watching the departing trains leave the station and slowly make their way around to the lift, which increasingly becomes out of view. The people we see on those trains are a mirror of our present selves: unsure, unknowing individuals and nothing has happened to them yet. It’s not until we are a few trainloads away from our ride that we witness what our future selves might be: passengers disembarking from an epic coaster experience that can’t be defined by words but through expressions.

Before boarding the train I implore one to take a good look around the station. Thirty years with hardly any updates (the gates are still arranged for a four-bench car configuration the trains had for its first several seasons) and a station that was once designed to approximate a rustic look is now the real deal. So much atmosphere is contained in that house without the need for any props or facades the big-time themers need to give their rides whatever artificial feeling of atmosphere they can. While standing in line for the last ride of the night I passed the time by watching spiders capture and devour insects in a web spun over an old television screen that played static. You simply can’t get that at Disney, I dare them to even try.

Where are we sitting? Front row, all the way. The back is great for rides when you’d like to try it with an extra-aggressive edge to the rattling capable of knocking your filling out (and I mean that in a positive way), and I’ve found the middle a great spot to enjoy a zen-like series of early morning re-rides on the Gold Pass early ride time (on my last visit over Halloween weekend, I got thirteen rides in a row without having to get off the train), but if you’re going to do the Official Beast Night Ride, waiting extra for the front row is the only option available. There’s nothing better than an unobstructed view to highlight the fact that we can’t see anything in the pitch black around us.

Now we are in the front row, sitting down, waiting to be dispatched for a coaster we still have not seen. The first, slow station turn, past the transfer track, curving along the brake run, engaging the lift hill and then slowly, slowly approaching the top can easily take more than a minute to complete, longer than most modern coasters that hurry to the action as fast as possible for fear that the riders might get bored. Why are we not yet bored of all this… waiting? Because none of this yet, the lift, the station turn, the queue line itself, was waiting in boredom, it was waiting in anticipation, slowly being given bit by bit more information, each piece revealing nothing but acting as a signifier, telling us we are one step closer to this great unknown. And here we are, about to crest the lift hill, and we still haven’t seen any part of the actual ride!

We crest. And there it all is.

That iconic, geometrically balanced image: a long descending straightaway dashed perpendicular to us along the horizon, bridging the double helix on the lower right with the second lift on the upper left. From there the eye notices a ground-level left hand curve that balances the left side of the frame; we trace it until it comes straight down the center, which draws our attention to the most immediate concern, that long straightaway drop into a perilously small tunnel.

Many people probably won’t realize this, but we’re now at the exact halfway point of the Beast experience. I’m certain many detractors of the ride saw it their first time through online POV videos and thereby based their initial opinions having unknowingly missed half of the ride. It’s at the crest of the lift where the long buildup in which nothing was known and everything imagined is over. What we have laid out in front of our eyes is the promise of a really rock-and-roll roller coaster… just look at that finale we have coming at the end!

And, for a moment at least, the Beast complies with those expectations. The build-up and anticipation is over, the coaster is here. The first drop is “thrilling” in the most traditional sense of the word. A true wooden roller coaster drop, a massive onslaught of speed and power intended to kick-start the adrenaline from neutral to overdrive in as fast as gravity will allow. Well, most enthusiasts will notice the dynamics of this drop are slightly altered in a way that is to become distinctly Beast-esque; most of the fall is taken over a perfectly straight ramp (it’s officially angled at 45 degrees although I would swear it’s steeper than that), compared to other coasters, particularly modern designs, where the curvature of the lead-in and out factors into much more of the drop. Some first-drop quality air is still present, although that mostly comes from the basics physics equation that tells us anything dropping at an exponential rate of speed will subjectively experience less than one g-force, as there is no  curvature that creates outward centrifugal forces as well. I personally would take the Beast’s approach over any other, as the long descent still creates a dramatically fast increase in speed while placing a visual focus on the tunnel and accompanying pull-out that’s about to hit in three…… two… one!

The pull-out hits hard and the tunnel comes fast; it’s incredibly clear at this moment that we are on a wooden coaster, with all the noise and out-of-control intensity that implies. The first drop is much farther than many people probably expect, thanks to the tunnel, which is plenty deep, dark, and over very fast. Yes, that’s what we expect from our coasters, out-of-control intensity that hurries us along from one moment to the next in as quick an order as our synapses will allow. And the Beast continues to comply with those expectations as we blast into a fast, high-intensity left turn without wasting a beat.

Dodging the wooden support structure from the second lift (yet another ‘traditional’ wooden coaster element the ride throws at us in the first ten seconds) riders find themselves poised on the edge of a second drop into a natural ravine. What use of terrain this is! Not only do riders once again find themselves plummeting farther down than the hill up before it was, but the forest here becomes the only thing visible on all sides, a dense canopy sheltering overhead and the ground is invisible from a bottomless sea of evergreen tree-trunks. While perhaps impressive during daylight hours, at night this becomes a haunting awakening to the ride that lay ahead. Suddenly purged from the lights surrounding the first drop and turn, one is unable to tell ground from sky, a hand six inches away from track sixty feet away, for everything their eyes can see has congealed into a single, bible-black canvas. Tunnels only wish they could be this dark.

Anyone unable to label those first fifteen seconds as belonging to a great ride ought to be considered criminally insane (or worse, a B&M fanboy). But now begins the controversial part.

Pulling up from this second drop we slide around a right turn, much more leisurely paced than the first, and we are met with a long covered brake run. Quick! Do what I always do when confronted with a midcourse brake run and try to ignore it as much as possible until we get back into the ride proper! No, the Beast won’t have it. This stretch of track is long, time consuming, and unlike other rides, there’s no going back to the steep drops and sharp turns when it’s over; from here on in, the Beast is doing things its own way.

-

Hold on, time out. So, this is the Beast’s “own way”? Come on! A brake run!?!? How, on any coaster, no matter what kind it is, could a flat brake run be anything less than a dead spot? Maybe on some coasters a brake run at least isn’t a detracting element, but, returning to Timmy the coaster enthusiast’s theory, it should always be fact that a better coaster could exist if it had something more exciting here than a brake run.

And while I hate to spoil things before we get to them, let’s cut the bullshit and fast-forward what’s coming until the second lift hill: wide, flat turn, pause as we enter a tunnel, another flat turn in the tunnel, out of the tunnel a few more straight runs of track with some minor flat turns, no where are any drops more than 15 degrees steep, nor any real g-forces in any direction except a few brief laterals… nothing but running along flat, ground-level track. And then a chain lift.

This is the ride I described as “Greatest Wooden Roller Coaster Ever Built” at the beginning of the analysis. Am I stark raving mad, admitting this all to you? Throughout the history of the Beast there’s been a tradition among enthusiasts where Beast fans try to divert attention away from the indisputable fact that their beloved is mostly flat, forceless sections of track, while emphasizing only the positives:

The surroundings are very dark, and it’s evident we’re being taken very far out into No Man’s Land with this stretch of track. Quite a bit of speed is still maintained, and this isn’t Diamondback where you always feel like you’re riding in a luxury sedan no matter what rate of speed you’re traveling at. The Beast trembles, shakes and sometimes heaves in direct correlation to the speed it is traveling as it navigates further downhill and away from civilization. Prowling deeper and deeper through the woods at night in the pitch black on a runaway train ride… that’s why we love the Beast, and there isn’t another coaster on the planet that does what the Beast does any better.

Perhaps that’s all there needs to be. The Beast can be defended as adhering to a doctrine of the minimalist aesthetic principle. Watch the Gus Van Sant movie Gerry while listening to the Philip Glass orchestra, then translate that experience into the coaster realm, and that’s more or less the Beast.

That’s yet to factor the height difference in terrain into the Beast’s equation. While the Beast might have endless stretches of straight track, there is an extremely important distinction that needs to be made: they are endless stretches of straight track angled slightly downhill.

After the long stretch of brake run, the Beast makes a right hand curve that brings us all the way down to ground level to enter a tunnel, and as such our instincts might be that this is as fast as this second part of the ride will get. The tunnel becomes its own highlight just by virtue of how long it holds us in an all-encompassing blackness, at least during night rides. This tunnel is actually two short underground segments at either end bridged by a longer aboveground segment that’s mostly enclosed. During the day a lot of light is leaked through; on my last visit I don’t believe there was any paneling along the bottom of the track, and the wooden planks that form the sides had small gaps between them, creating the appearance of a solid tunnel when looking forward but when viewed at from the side a zoetrope effect was created with the passing woodland scenery on the outside.

The track inside the tunnel is another one of those moments where nothing really happens besides a long, wide turn to the right; by all accounts it’s essentially just as much ‘dead track’ as the shed-covered brake run that preceded it, it’s just that this stretch one-ups it a little bit by being completely enclosed, and by taking place along a curve it not only throws some minor laterals into the mix but it hides what’s coming ahead. The shed run, by opposites, was all about anticipating what’s coming after it, the end remaining in sight along the entire stretch and yet elusively out of reach because the track is just so long. That is actually a recurring theme found throughout the Beast, an awareness of space and motion achieved by approaching vanishing points (another reason why sitting in the front row is a must).

However, nearing the end of the tunnel, one might detect a sensation that we are now gaining speed. The last straightaway leading us back into the exposed outdoors is in fact pulling us downhill at a surprisingly strong pace, surprising because we don’t recall ever starting to slope this steeply downhill, and it’s impossible to sense from the surrounding terrain that we even have moved downhill at all from when we first entered the tunnel; this gaining speed since the shed run seems to be ex nihilo, created from nothing.

What amazes me about this stretch of the Beast is not just that it’s capable of mysteriously building speed (the track remains consistently five feet above the ground at all times after exiting the tunnel), but somehow that it’s able to exponentially increase the rate of gained speed. Presumably this is because the land we’re traveling over somehow becomes steeper, but a glance around at our surroundings gives the illusion we’ve not experienced more than a twenty-foot change in elevation since the beginning of the ride; the land at least appears mostly all flat, without the ravines or valleys we might normally associate with so much speed gain.

Pouring hard into the next right hand turn out of the tunnel, this one builds upon the last turn further by providing even more laterals and increased speed. That’s not to say that this coaster is ‘about’ laterals in the same way a ride like the Legend might be described. In an absolute sense the lateral forces here are still somewhat light, but relatively speaking every second is “building” on the one before it, even though it’s not “in intensity”. The speed is ever increasing, and perhaps most notably it’s the increased shaking and rattling of the cars that best signifies increased danger. It all adds together to create the indelible impression that we are climaxing towards something, but what, it’s hard to say…

A slight pattern emerges in this last dash of the ride as a straight, ground level stretch of track builds in speed as it anticipates a curve to the right, which is repeated a total of three times after exiting the tunnel. After the second turn, which has a slight crest over a natural hill, the track follows a downward contour in the land and the speed really explodes in these final moments as we charge into the final right turn. Laterals are probably at their most intense on this final maneuver but it’s a quick turn that’s over before even realizing it. It’s much more about the lead into this curve, a long prebank that feeds directly into the turn with no transition from straight to curve, so the laterals hit hard all at once before they just as quickly dissipate.

The official speed of the Beast is listed as 64.77 mph, (an absurdly precise measurement especially for a wooden coaster) but there’s a bit of confusion over exactly where that happens. One normally assumes this refers to the first drop, but the park clarifies this speed as occurring on the ‘third hill’, a bit of an ambiguity since there are no real drops after the second one into the ravine, possibly referring to the second lift drop into the helix. However, rumor has it that back in the day it was actually at this moment where the Beast achieved maximum velocity, an astounding feat considering there haven’t been any authentic drops after finishing with the shed run; that speed was created via nothing but a long and arduous buildup that takes nearly a minute to reach its full potential, and once it’s been reached, the coaster does nothing with it but quickly let up and start the climb back uphill and into the second lift. It even goes so far as to tease us, once the speed has mostly been lost, with another slight downward slope that feels like we start to get some of the power back before the pace once again quits for good with the lift.

A minute of buildup with no payoff at the end? That’s looking at it the wrong way. In dramatic structures, the more powerful tension comes from a build-up that doesn’t allow a release from its hook after it’s done, rather than one that ends with the expected payoff and catharsis which trivializes the suspense that preceded it. As we climb the second lift hill, instead of cheering and wiping our brow relieved, we’re still engaged with the ride even though at the moment it appears to have stopped; it still haunts us. And for those that know what’s waiting for us on the other end of the lift (everyone had a good glimpse of it at the top of the first lift) knows that the Beast isn’t finished yet.

Reaching the top of the second lift, we are momentarily disengaged from all that accumulated, unresolved tension as for the first time since we left the station we feel a sense familiarity of our surroundings. There’s Vortex, the Eiffel Tower, Racer and Son of Beast off in the distance, and as we start to turn left we even spy Diamondback sticking up over the hills, pathetically scratching into the deeper reaches of the woods we’ve just been through. This turn isn’t exactly the archetype of quality engineering; the cars creak oddly as they try to tilt into the bank, and the inconsistent radius gives the appearance that we’re straightening out before it smashes us hard to the right as it attempts to align with the long down ramp. And straight ahead is a sight even more memorable than the one seen at the top of the lift. Two rails skewing around to the right as they coalesce into a black hole.

The next six seconds as we angle down this 141 ft. drop angled at only 17 degrees are a potent repackaging of everything from the last two minutes: straight track with long banking leadins, accumulating speed, vanishing points, and ratcheting psychological tension without any physical aggression. By emulating these same techniques the mind is able to better contextualize this moment than if it had been randomly inserted in the middle of a traditional coaster experience. The repetition in familiar elements creates the subconscious sensation that this too will end without payoff, sharply conflicting with new sensations and setting that indicate we’re anticipating something new and altogether terrifying.

This is an incredible finale. There are no g-forces on this lead-in, besides the pull from the increased banking, yet you would have to have ice for blood to feel nothing. The increasing wind, the train shaking and heaving more and more, the track tipping us over farther and farther as we anxiously wait for that still intangible helix to inevitably hit (the track seems to just end at the mouth of the tunnel, so we can’t actually see what it is we are bracing for).

Closer and closer, faster and faster, steeper and steeper… ______ but still not there…

It hits. Pummeling us against the other side of the train. The world goes black. Screams from the riders are inaudible over the screaming of steel wheels. The train tries to break free from the track. Laterals so strong they make the Legend look weak. Rarely does a coaster ever scare me these days, but this helix easily would make my list of the five or so coaster moments that still do, even after having ridden them many times.

We burst out of the tunnel, and there’s a sudden calm as the train navigates the next 180 degrees. It can be hard to tell but this helix contours against a steep hillside, and the lower, covered portion of the helix is probably a good 50 ft. below this upper portion. Call this the eye of the hurricane before the train enters the upper level of the tunnel. Again, the train shakes, howls and mercilessly throws us against the right side of our seats, this sensory overload for our ears and nerves while devoid of visual stimulus is perfectly contrasted by the serene, open air middle portion of the helix. After a half hour of anticipation, we have finally gotten to the payoff. And it was well worth it.

As soon as we exit the upper level of the tunnel, there is once again quiet, the intense laterals seeming to let up the moment we can see light (or at least, moonlight). I always hate a ride that, after the big finale, tries to entertain us a bit more with lesser filler material before reaching the brake run. While we still have to get around the final leg of the turn and up into the brake run, it’s so gentle that compared to the helix my brain hardly ever registers it, and the ride is as good as over at this moment. We return to the station, secretly wishing we could turn back the clock and rejoin those unknowing faces still waiting for their turn in the station. Every time I feel that envy I know I’ve just been on a truly great roller coaster.

Still, I feel as though I’ve failed to justify my original claim that the Beast is the Greatest Wooden Coaster Ever Built. Holiday World’s Voyage can easily be described as at least most of those things, and there’s a lot more happening with that ride as well. Okay, even the Voyage doesn’t have quite as strong a factor of venturing into the unknown that the Beast has when climbing aboard, but things like the record amount of airtime, underground triple down and ninety degree banking should more than make up for all that and put it at least on par if not well above the Beast. And if not the Voyage, there are other coasters that are equally strong contenders, such as El Toro’s extreme airtime, power and precision, Thunderhead’s intricate turns and lightning fast pacing, or the Phoenix’s classical and abundant airtime appeal. Each more than succeeds at doing what it’s intended to do, so why am I giving special treatment to the Beast just because it also  seems to succeed at what it does?

Frankly, I grappled with that problem a long time. After my first rain-slicked night ride on the Voyage in 2006 when it was running with lightning pacing, by all my own declared standards of what makes a #1 coaster I should have then and there dumped the Beast from my top position and replaced it with that ride. But I couldn’t. Was it just that I had become too sentimentally attached to my long-time favorite roller coaster? Secretly I thought I might have been, but I held belief that there was something besides sentiments that made the Beast the better ride. And slowly, I think I uncovered what it is.

Every other coaster ever built since La Marcus Adna Thompson first envisioned a gravity thrill device for the shores of Coney Island all work in a near identical psychological fashion. They’re experiences created by individual moments. A sentient being existing at a specific point in space-time, contorted in whatever way possible best maximizes that beings’ immediate enjoyment via instantaneous neural feedback created by unusual physical and sensual scenarios. A hill followed by a turn followed by a loop and so on. Sometimes that’s best achieved by allowing a second of pause to set up and highlight next big moment, but the ride is always fundamentally about these moments.

The Beast isn’t. After teasing the rider with a glimpse of a traditional roller coaster experience in the first few seconds off the chain lift, it abruptly and willfully abandons those traits for an experience that has no specific moments for our minds to latch onto. We are taken out of the moment and instead are looking forward into the building kinetic energy that waits ahead. The shed-covered brake run becomes a highlight of the ride only after the moment has passed, somewhere down along the high speed ground section before the second lift, where without the contrast of a seemingly anticlimactic moment earlier in the experience would render that later section of the ride trivial. The mind expands and begins to think of the coaster as something that doesn’t happen in the here-and-now but across space-time. To do something like build an airtime hill in the middle of this coaster would completely destroy the creation of tension and anticipation and put us back into riding for individual experiential moments.

In addition, the sheer length of the Beast creates a different psychological state than you would get at the end of a ride half its size. Unlike many coasters we might finish the ride with the beginning of it still in our short-term memory. With the Beast, by the time we get to the conclusion, as we reflect back on how this whole epic experience started we are instead reaching into our long-term memory and the result is surprisingly different. While on any coaster under two minutes I still feel temporally connected to the outside world, while on the Beast my entire sense of existence starts to become defined by the ride and I become lost in the experience (not entirely dissimilar to the experience of watching an epic movie and eventually forgetting about the reality outside the film because my entire sense of being has been completely absorbed by it).

This all might delve into a deeper, philosophical of the role of the human mind. As someone is consciously riding a roller coaster, is the mind only engaged in the experience to the extent that it is used as a receptacle for sensory data? Many people seem to be content with that function, and if so I hope that attitude doesn’t carry on to the rest of their life because to claim that human consciousness is limited only to sensation seems to be rob us of a vital element of our humanity. It implies that right now all your mind is doing is sensing an arrangement of black and off-white pixels, and that later you will become fearful of death not out of any existential understanding of what death is but solely because your genetic code is programmed to release chemicals that create negative sensations deter you from the thought. It is not enough, at least not for me, to simply extrinsically sense lateral g-forces or airtime or what have you. It is necessary to also intrinsically comprehend these sensations and understand what they mean within the context of my own being.

With so many long, flat sections of track, it’s clear that the secret of the Beast has hardly anything to do with just perceptual sensations. It plays with human emotions in a way no other coaster does. When we round that first right-hand turn after the ‘exciting’ ravine drop and encounter the long strip of deceleration, even I still feel a sense of disappointment and sadness at first. These are real emotions I am experiencing, just as valid to the ride experience as a sense of thrill or enjoyment that we normally expect from a coaster and use to benchmark how good or bad a ride is. (I’ve often wondered if it’s possible to design a ride that evokes other emotions, in that someone’s response wouldn’t just be scream or cheer, but to laugh, cry, feel pensive or envious or regretful or nostalgic.) Later, when the Beast is once again hauling down the hillside at full speed, by cognitively reflecting on that original emotional state of disappointment it is then transformed into new emotions of at first relief and then anxiety and excitement; none of these feelings are caused by the sensory feedback of the immediate riding environment. The result is that if you’re not in at least some degree psychologically ‘in-tuned’ with what the Beast is trying to do, then you will still be able to feel nothing from the ride. However for people that can understand what I’m (perhaps poorly) trying to communicate here, then perhaps you can see what I meant when I first called the Beast radical in ways that no other coaster is.

Alas, I must confess that everything written above might be for naught (assuming it made any impact to begin with; I fear I might have been swimming in waters above my head with the previous few paragraphs, but I suppose it’s better to try and fail than to not try at all). If you were to drive out to Kings Island today you would not be able to ride exactly the coaster I described above. In the park’s numerous attempts to ‘modernize’ the Beast over the past several years (most notably with the replacement of the original skid brakes with magnetic brakes in 2002) they have perhaps unknowingly taken a lot away from the ride. These magnetic brakes now severely hold the train on the first drop, second drop into the ravine, along the old skid brake run and along the downward ramp into the helix, each dramatically impeding that sense of slowly building climax I emphasized so strongly in my defense of the coaster. Admittedly all of those locations with the exception of the ravine drop had skid brakes along them before, but those were barely effective and even if they did rob the train of some forward momentum the deceleration was spread over a much longer stretch of track so it wasn’t a noticeable force thrusting us forward into the restraints. On the first ride of the morning on a cold October morning when I was the only passenger in the train, we probably came within walking speed at the exit of the shed run brake (that it still powered through the last few curves on that stretch of track is a testament to how much terrain difference is utilized in that middle section).

The coaches we ride in aren’t the ideal they used to be, although given what some parks do to their wooden coaster trains it could be a lot worse. Actually the retracting seatbelt feature is nice, it helps with load times and makes sure everyone’s in securely without ever being tight or restrictive. However the seat dividers come up all the way along the seat back and can jab at the ribs if you’re not careful. Again, this is all a bit nitpicky and there have certainly been far more horrendous examples of wood coaster rolling stock, but it’s still a far cry from the days it had single-position lapbars, no headrests and no seat dividers, which I sadly never got to experience it with. I remember on my first ride ever on the Beast in 1996 my lapbar ratcheted down really tight on the first drop and I spent the rest of the ride watching my legs turn blue. I hated the Beast until I visited it again in 2001 (the year before the magnetic brakes) and that last ride of the night made a very permanent impression on me, to say the least.

What’s interesting to note is that none of these complaints come from the fact that the ride isn’t being well-maintained by the park as is normally the case with older wooden coasters like this, but rather from the park taking too proactive a stance in preserving the ride for loving guests. Their latest endeavor is perhaps the most sadly ironic of them all… the complete retracking of the helix finale. Normally that’s a very good thing, but not only was it retracked, many of the ledgers and supports have also been replaced; fairly extravagant treatment for a wooden coaster that’s 30 years old, especially one owned by a corporate park. So why did that have to include considerably increasing the banking pitch of the helix? On my first ride of the season last May, this is how the narrative actually went:

Closer and closer, faster and faster, steeper and steeper… but still not there…

It hits. Wait, did it really? Just now? I don’t feel much of anything except for some mildly strong positives and with such light, controlled laterals that any CCI would laugh at it. When we got back to the station I asked one of the attendants if they really had increased the banking over the off-season his reply was, “yeah, they sure did! Isn’t it so much smoother now?”

I might be slightly understating things when I say that transforming the finale that the entire five minutes of ride time before it had been slowly climaxing toward from the original batshit insane maelstrom into a completely neutered, basic curving maneuver completely and utterly fucks the ride several times over. Listen, Kings Island, I appreciate the thoughtfulness but am I honestly in the minority that thinks the way to a better Beast is by a smoother, more controlled ride? I thought the general consensus was that the feeling of being out of control was what people loved about the ride, so why would you deliberately try to neutralize that experience? As I watch the crowds eat up Diamondback I guess tastes must be changing. Thankfully part of the problem with that first ride this season might have been it just hadn’t fully broken in yet, since it was somewhat more like its old self in August, and over the Halloween weekend, while it wasn’t running as fast as it had been on a hot summer night there was still at least a bit of an edge left over.

One last gripe that’s always been a part of the Beast is that I wish they didn’t have to run that maintenance road along the entire section of track after the second tunnel and before the lift. This is the section of the ride that the woods should make the most powerful presence as we are at the most remote reaches from the park, but instead we feel like we’re somehow out in the clear and not far from home, plus the sense of speed is diminished with the reference points pushed further away from us. I also noticed this year that one or two of the hills on Diamondback are now visible from this back section since we don’t have much tree cover, which might not seem like that big of a deal (I remember when it was first announced I worried they’d try building over the same land as the Beast) but it gives away our location in regards to the rest of the park with the sight of something familiar; when you exit that second tunnel you could almost believe you’re in the next state, so removed from anything resembling an amusement park you are. Thankfully like a few other of the Beast’s drawbacks, this problem is alleviated at night.

For anyone out there that is planning a first-time visit to Kings Island, I would recommend including an evening ticket before a full day in the plans, since not only is there probably that much to do in the park but it’ll let one experience the Beast for the first time after night fall, which is how everyone should experience it for the first time in their lives, even if it doesn’t win you over and also ends up being your only time.

Despite my numerous complaints about the performance of the coaster in recent years, the core of the ride experience is still all there (although the helix modifications came really close to fundamentally altering that essential core). And although Diamondback may have been garnering the most buzz for the park over this past season, at the end of the night it was still the Beast that played host to the most enthusiastic crowds, the entire trainload erupting into a symphony of cheers when they got back to the station. So congratulations, Beast, you’ve officially completed thirty-one seasons. Here’s to hoping your best years are still ahead of you.

(P.S. This POV video below I think well captures the Beast ride I was trying to describe in this analysis. Including the full preride section and the older pacing before the magnetic brakes, it’s even filmed on a very overcast day, emulating to some degree the night ride environment.)

Photos credited to: CoasterImage.com (all backstage offride); Wayne Stueber (Aerial); Kings Island (First drop). Used with permission.

(On-ride photos were provided by a source who wished to remain anonymous to me. Please do not attempt to take on-ride photos of rides yourself without the parks permission.)