I grew up riding the Hurler as a small boy. I loved it. The theming, the great whippy turns, the rattling wood creaking from the stress of the powder blue trains rolling like a rock through a forest....
I grew up riding the Hurler as a small boy. I loved it. The theming, the great whippy turns, the rattling wood creaking from the stress of the powder blue trains rolling like a rock through a forest. When I heard that my beloved Hurler was due for an RMC treatment my nostalgia gut started to twist and churn. How could they mutilate my favorite woodie? As I took the old familar queue to ride Twisted Timbets for the first time my old memories flooded back of the old Hurler theming. Plastic baby doll arms, legs, and torsos hung from the rafters as some sick joke which made my dark heart flutter with delight. I missed it. I stepped through the metal detector, cell phone in hand, and got in the back. As the Russian doll faced Op stapled me into the restraint I felt my heart beat rise. A thumbs up from the steady but slow Ops sent me off into the lift hill with an air of unearned confidence. As I crested the top I could see the first drop and I was giddy with delight. Wow. An inversion drop. I was in coaster heaven. The rails whipped me around the station house for some camel backs and mighty overbaked whips. It was all over in a matter of seconds but it lasted an eternity of bliss that I still replay in my mind when Im restless in bed and need to kickstart my dreams. These days when im asked what my favorite coaster is I have the words Twisted Timbers loaded on the tip of my tongue waiting to convert another soul by drinking the sweet RMC kool aid nectar. Hurler is not dead, it is alive in my heart next to my undying love for its improved
Final form. Party on Wayne, party on Garth.