Had this ride been just a wee bit longer, I might very well have rated it a nine. Then again, I might very well have also returned to the station unconscious. During the second set of a series inversions that comprise basically the entirety of the layout after the first drop, Tennessee Tornado pulled a Terry "Bam Bam" Gordy on me. Suddenly, I saw a pop, as if from a flahbulb, and then my field of vision receded down a long, grey tunnel. I would have thought by this time that Id experienced about every sort of a sensation a roller coaster could impart, but that was definitely a first. While the intercranial effects of the ride soon dissipated, my respect for this roller coaster has not. Its a rare ride that can hand your butt to you and still have you coming back later for more.
This was among the last of the big Arrow loopers, and it is a fitting conclusion to a career that gave much to the roller coaster community but is too often remembered only for its missteps. At their best, Arrow coasters mimicked the feel of a wood ride in abruptness and intensity, while combining these traits with the sort of chest-collapsing inversions only possible on a steelie. Take, for example, the Tennessee Tornados opening sequence. After picking up some speed along a swooping right turn, the train drops suddenly and sharply down a steep, enclosed hill. Riders in the rearmost car are forcefully ripped out of their seats and then just as forcefully pressed right back down during the enormous loop that follows. Modern steel coasters from Switzerland are so adept at manipulating gravity that their positive and negative Gs have sort of an express-elevator-like quality to them. You get a moment of force followed by an expertly-executed transition that gracefully and gently positions you for the next phase. Arrow transitions, by contrast, are like the moments in Looney Tunes adventures when the Road Runners body outpaces his head, while his neck continues to elongate along its former orientation until it finally snaps around to catch up with his fleeing body. That may not sound like everybodys idea of fun, but personally, Id rather have my thrills modeled after the physics-defying antics of cartoon characters than the precision of watch-makers.
A more unfortunate tendency of Arrow coasters, however, was also present on the Tennessee Tornado in the amount of brain shake that came through in the back seat. Unlike head-banging, which can usually be mitigated by properly bracing oneself, brain shake is an unavoidable rattle transmitted from the union of track and wheels to the riders brain pan. If youve ever ridden a skateboard or roller skates with metal wheels over pebbly macadam, you know what Im talking about. Brain shake intensifies when your skull is placed firmly against the headrest, so it forces a rider negotiating fast inversions to choose between slightly scrambled grey matter or a possible wrenching of the thoracic vertebrae from leaning forward against heavy positive Gs. Really bad brain shake, the kind under-maintained Dinn-Summers coasters are famous for, can cause a headache that ends a days fun at the park. What little I experienced on the Tennessee Tornado was nowhere near this violent, however, and I willingly underwent a second dose to experience the excellent airtime on the first drop in the back seat. By contrast, the ride in the front seat was quite comfortable, although no less forceful; it was there where things began to go dim for me.
Earlier this summer, I had the opportunity to ride another Arrow classic, the Loch Ness Monster. My overall impression of that ride was that the most forceful elements of an excellent layout had been unfortunately muted with trim brakes. No such taming, however, has been visited upon the Tennessee Tornado. This is Arrow unleashed, and that, my friends, is a rare and wonderful occurrence in todays more conservative age of continental refinement.<s
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