Old and New (York)

I’ll try not to venture too far into well-trod tropes and cliches of New York superlatives. It has been done before; perhaps too much and without a sense of respect the city deserves at times. It is a city that pushes boundaries and provides an endless amount of opportunities to discover and experience. 

The social media environs are inclined to think one should go to the hottest and newest places, which, obviously one should do.  But New York is far too big to limit one’s pursuit in discovering the city to these flash-in-a-pan moments. Sure, some may stick around and even become cultural institutions. However there is so much more to New York that has been around for generations and survived the rises and falls of the city’s ever changing landscape for a reason. They are worth experiencing. So while they may not be “new” or even “hot” they deserve discovering. 

Take, for example, The Cyclone, the iconic roller coaster of Coney Island. Though not the original roller coaster from the original Luna Park in the 1800’s, it has become synonymous with visiting Coney Island. The Cyclone, along with the adjacent amusement park, offers an escape to New Yorkers during the oppressive heat in the summer. A 45 minute subway ride from downtown Manhattan will drop sweaty New Yorkers off at the southern beaches of Brooklyn. Once there, it is impossible to miss the ride from the boardwalk or main drag, parallel to the beach. In fact, it is so prominent along the Brooklyn beachfront that it seems grossly inappropriate not to take a ride. 

It occurred to me and some friends, with a collective 60 years of life in New York, that we had never visited Coney Island, let alone ride the Cyclone. 

So there we were, seven Manhattanites fresh from Seinfeld Night at the Brooklyn Cyclones game, waiting in line for a roller coaster that survived a World War, a Great Depression and countless storms that have surely battered the beachside attraction. The metal sign with two letters out, spelled ‘clone’ and violently rattled above as the cars whooshed around the hairpin turn overhead. We nervously awaited our cars, eyeing the painted-over rust spots on the metal girders joining the wooden supports. Once bolted in with a restraint bar, we tossed, we shook, we vibrated with the wood and metal. My head hurt from the inertia and three minutes later we were done. 

Exhilarated and hoarse from screaming, adrenaline still pumped through us as we stumbled down the ramp to the street. We shared our respective anecdotes of the ‘near death experience’ and we understood why this wooden dinosaur is here. 

Perhaps we were naive. Maybe we have blind spots to anything more than a 30 minute train ride and a river crossing away. We needed someone to have a Seinfeld obsession to convince friends to venture away from the usual grazing grounds south of 14th street and try something new. But I say with regret that I wish I knew of this old wooden roller coaster sooner. It’s a cacophony of lights and sounds that can bring anyone back to their childhood days at amusement parks. And it’s proof that anything is worth visiting in New York