We spend most of our lives unaware of finality.
Blissfully oblivious to when that goodnight text or that Megafobia ride will be the very last one.
So when we can see an end in sight for something, it distorts the view. Like a funeral marked in your calendar a year in advance.
Appreciation shows it's sheepish face and whispers "sorry I took so long."
This is the first and last time I will enter Six Flags America.
I leave my complacency in the car and stare at the mouldy waterslides over shadowing the carpark with pity, as opposed to contempt.
The park entrance is uncharacteristically quaint for a Six Flags park, it looks like a photocopy of a photocopy of a photocopy of Main Street USA. Faded, feint, yet charming.
There's a long line in the bathroom. Not for the ample toilet stalls, but for the one working tap.
This is the first and last time I will queue to wash my hands using the one working tap at an amusement park. Probably. (This does sound likely to happen at Flamingo Land tbf)
Unlike most parks with their circular hub / spoke designs, the layout of Six Flags America unfolds itself in an unusual fashion. Like a kid frustratingly unfurling their first failed attempted at origami, Six Flags America sprawls out in some directions and crumples up in others.
The DC Superhero section feels particularly endless. We march down a long corridor of mocking Jokers and Harley Quinns with their gritted-teeth grins before reaching out first ride of the day: Batwing.
Yes, we started our day on an old Vekoma flyer- quite literally the last (Dutch)man standing.
This is my second and last time riding a Vekoma Flying Dutchman. It was running one Frankenstein of a train cobbled together from all its fallen Dutchman heroes of yesteryear.
As a coaster enthusiast, I resent to use this word, but it felt...dangerous? Like the track and train were tearing themselves apart. I clambered out of the ride car slightly pale in the face, concluding that the Dutchman is the SLC of the flying coaster world. Bonkers, but not brilliant.
Hours after we rode, we discovered that the lift hill motor for Batwing exploded that day - leaking oil all over the lift hill and closing the ride for the rest of the day.
See? I told you it was unwell.
Superman, the Intamin hyper lured us in next, with it's promise of new trains and improved restraints. I believe 'too little too late' is the phrase here.
The new trains on Superman did not make the first drop less weak or the generic helix-ridden layout more interesting. Less super, more maaaaan I wish that were better.
The nice thing about the Cedar Fair Six Flags Annual Pass is that you (incorrectly) view every park visit as free. So it feels irrelevant if a park is genuinely good.
Like an avoidant romantic partner undeservedly placed upon a pedestal, I held Six Flags America to a lower standard, to spare myself from the overwhelming sense of futility of it all.
Ironically, one reason the park visit is less good is due to funding cuts from the merger itself - the very merger which created this excellent-value Six Flags Cedar Fair mega park pass.
And thus the giant American amusement park snake continues to eat itself faster than the demolition of all of Six Flags Great Adventures green coasters combined.
ANYWAY.
Wild One, a woodie over 100 years old, delivered the goods with strong laterals and little pops of airtime. It boasts the kind of roughness that builds character rather than vibrates eyeballs. "Save the Wild One" hark the middle-aged enthusiasts, gesturing, ahem, wildly to the ACE Coaster Landmark sign gleaming in the Maryland sun. And I think I agree with them (for once)
Hopped onto the Intamin 2nd gen drop tower next door. One of my all time favourite ride types. The line of 20 people waiting took a very long time to process. Ops were spectacularly meandering but, once again, I found myself making exceptions for this park. I don't know what motivates the staff at Europa to operate as efficiently as they do, but I'm pretty sure it's not imminent redundancy.
It's fair that this is how you operate an amusement park with no future. With dragging feet, rolling eyes and a careless smirk that asks "what are you going to do about it?"
Because there's nothing that can be done. The end is undeniably looming.
Six Flags America has a stunt show in their newly renovated Steampunk area. The whole area wreaks of false hope now, with it's freshly painted SLC glowing like a brand new ride next to it's cool new Zamperla Nebulaz friend.
Real "we have Rookburg at home" vibes in this area. It's kind of adorable when Six Flags attempt theming beyond their lime green and purple Joker comfort zone. Oh Six Flags America, "you tried" I state - whilst questioning my audacity to be so appreciative and so patrionising all at once.
The actors in the stunt show impressed me, wrestling with both each other and the heart strings of the audience.
The script contained lines like:
"This place may a pile of dirt but it's home to lots of special memories"
which, when delivered in person, on grounds set to be demolished, has quite the emotional impact. If you, like me, read way too much emotional symbolism into everything.
This is the first and last time my eyes will well-up at the Six Flags America stunt show.
Rode the world's first B+M in it's warped floorless state. Firebird was a pleasant experience, featuring fireball effects and relatively smooth tracking. This ride really, uh, stands the test of time. It was actually more enjoyable than the brand new B+M at Kings Dominion that I rode the day before, which I now disdainfully refer to as Crapterra.
There's a train ride that loops around Six Flags America, offering a tour of abandoned campsites, dilapidated theming structures, and desolate old kiddie areas filled with dismantled rides. The views were so lacking in kinetic energy that it genuinely felt as if the park was already closed for good. This train ride was when the Six Flags day started to feel more like a Six Flags funeral.
Like a sad dog chained up outside in the cold, Six Flags America has that downcast, neglected look in its eyes. It's last gasp stifled by its own sigh of defeat. Here lies a vastly unappreciated park that should go out in a blaze of glory, but has been reduced to crawling toward the finish line.
When the launch of Jokers Jinx lets up and the train bleeds out momentum at the highest point of the ride, a question cuts through the brief moment of tranquility in my mind:
Does Six Flags America need to die? Or does it just need to be loved? Appreciated, rather than neglected? The rough track jerks me out of my thoughts before I can think of an answer.
****
I started writing this trip report in May on an internal US flight. You may notice that I used the term "we" in the report. And now I'm using the term "I."
That's why there are no pictures from the trip. The person I visited Six Flags America with, once the closest person in my life, is now no longer in it.
It's wryly fitting, isn't it. Everything ends. I just hope Six Flags will use the loss of Six Flags America as a catalyst for positive change.
Upon leaving the park, a Looney Tunes sign reads "that's all folks!" at the exit. That's all folks. The screams will fade into echoes. The smiles trapped in old photographs. The ground will become churned up into mud. Housing will be built on the mud faster than Six Flags Great Adventure builds a replacement for Ka.
And all that's left are bittersweet memories, of a park that was never quite good enough.
Blissfully oblivious to when that goodnight text or that Megafobia ride will be the very last one.
So when we can see an end in sight for something, it distorts the view. Like a funeral marked in your calendar a year in advance.
Appreciation shows it's sheepish face and whispers "sorry I took so long."
This is the first and last time I will enter Six Flags America.
I leave my complacency in the car and stare at the mouldy waterslides over shadowing the carpark with pity, as opposed to contempt.
The park entrance is uncharacteristically quaint for a Six Flags park, it looks like a photocopy of a photocopy of a photocopy of Main Street USA. Faded, feint, yet charming.
There's a long line in the bathroom. Not for the ample toilet stalls, but for the one working tap.
This is the first and last time I will queue to wash my hands using the one working tap at an amusement park. Probably. (This does sound likely to happen at Flamingo Land tbf)
Unlike most parks with their circular hub / spoke designs, the layout of Six Flags America unfolds itself in an unusual fashion. Like a kid frustratingly unfurling their first failed attempted at origami, Six Flags America sprawls out in some directions and crumples up in others.
The DC Superhero section feels particularly endless. We march down a long corridor of mocking Jokers and Harley Quinns with their gritted-teeth grins before reaching out first ride of the day: Batwing.
Yes, we started our day on an old Vekoma flyer- quite literally the last (Dutch)man standing.
This is my second and last time riding a Vekoma Flying Dutchman. It was running one Frankenstein of a train cobbled together from all its fallen Dutchman heroes of yesteryear.
As a coaster enthusiast, I resent to use this word, but it felt...dangerous? Like the track and train were tearing themselves apart. I clambered out of the ride car slightly pale in the face, concluding that the Dutchman is the SLC of the flying coaster world. Bonkers, but not brilliant.
Hours after we rode, we discovered that the lift hill motor for Batwing exploded that day - leaking oil all over the lift hill and closing the ride for the rest of the day.
See? I told you it was unwell.
Superman, the Intamin hyper lured us in next, with it's promise of new trains and improved restraints. I believe 'too little too late' is the phrase here.
The new trains on Superman did not make the first drop less weak or the generic helix-ridden layout more interesting. Less super, more maaaaan I wish that were better.
The nice thing about the Cedar Fair Six Flags Annual Pass is that you (incorrectly) view every park visit as free. So it feels irrelevant if a park is genuinely good.
Like an avoidant romantic partner undeservedly placed upon a pedestal, I held Six Flags America to a lower standard, to spare myself from the overwhelming sense of futility of it all.
Ironically, one reason the park visit is less good is due to funding cuts from the merger itself - the very merger which created this excellent-value Six Flags Cedar Fair mega park pass.
And thus the giant American amusement park snake continues to eat itself faster than the demolition of all of Six Flags Great Adventures green coasters combined.
ANYWAY.
Wild One, a woodie over 100 years old, delivered the goods with strong laterals and little pops of airtime. It boasts the kind of roughness that builds character rather than vibrates eyeballs. "Save the Wild One" hark the middle-aged enthusiasts, gesturing, ahem, wildly to the ACE Coaster Landmark sign gleaming in the Maryland sun. And I think I agree with them (for once)
Hopped onto the Intamin 2nd gen drop tower next door. One of my all time favourite ride types. The line of 20 people waiting took a very long time to process. Ops were spectacularly meandering but, once again, I found myself making exceptions for this park. I don't know what motivates the staff at Europa to operate as efficiently as they do, but I'm pretty sure it's not imminent redundancy.
It's fair that this is how you operate an amusement park with no future. With dragging feet, rolling eyes and a careless smirk that asks "what are you going to do about it?"
Because there's nothing that can be done. The end is undeniably looming.
Six Flags America has a stunt show in their newly renovated Steampunk area. The whole area wreaks of false hope now, with it's freshly painted SLC glowing like a brand new ride next to it's cool new Zamperla Nebulaz friend.
Real "we have Rookburg at home" vibes in this area. It's kind of adorable when Six Flags attempt theming beyond their lime green and purple Joker comfort zone. Oh Six Flags America, "you tried" I state - whilst questioning my audacity to be so appreciative and so patrionising all at once.
The actors in the stunt show impressed me, wrestling with both each other and the heart strings of the audience.
The script contained lines like:
"This place may a pile of dirt but it's home to lots of special memories"
which, when delivered in person, on grounds set to be demolished, has quite the emotional impact. If you, like me, read way too much emotional symbolism into everything.
This is the first and last time my eyes will well-up at the Six Flags America stunt show.
Rode the world's first B+M in it's warped floorless state. Firebird was a pleasant experience, featuring fireball effects and relatively smooth tracking. This ride really, uh, stands the test of time. It was actually more enjoyable than the brand new B+M at Kings Dominion that I rode the day before, which I now disdainfully refer to as Crapterra.
There's a train ride that loops around Six Flags America, offering a tour of abandoned campsites, dilapidated theming structures, and desolate old kiddie areas filled with dismantled rides. The views were so lacking in kinetic energy that it genuinely felt as if the park was already closed for good. This train ride was when the Six Flags day started to feel more like a Six Flags funeral.
Like a sad dog chained up outside in the cold, Six Flags America has that downcast, neglected look in its eyes. It's last gasp stifled by its own sigh of defeat. Here lies a vastly unappreciated park that should go out in a blaze of glory, but has been reduced to crawling toward the finish line.
When the launch of Jokers Jinx lets up and the train bleeds out momentum at the highest point of the ride, a question cuts through the brief moment of tranquility in my mind:
Does Six Flags America need to die? Or does it just need to be loved? Appreciated, rather than neglected? The rough track jerks me out of my thoughts before I can think of an answer.
****
I started writing this trip report in May on an internal US flight. You may notice that I used the term "we" in the report. And now I'm using the term "I."
That's why there are no pictures from the trip. The person I visited Six Flags America with, once the closest person in my life, is now no longer in it.
It's wryly fitting, isn't it. Everything ends. I just hope Six Flags will use the loss of Six Flags America as a catalyst for positive change.
Upon leaving the park, a Looney Tunes sign reads "that's all folks!" at the exit. That's all folks. The screams will fade into echoes. The smiles trapped in old photographs. The ground will become churned up into mud. Housing will be built on the mud faster than Six Flags Great Adventure builds a replacement for Ka.
And all that's left are bittersweet memories, of a park that was never quite good enough.
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- no”
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