The first time it happened, it was over so quick I didn't really gauge the impact of the statement.

It happened again last week, and this time it struck a chord.

And being a guy, I can't tell you for sure even when the first time was. I just remember it was near the time my wife and I got married.

At some point in some conversation, roller coasters came up. My father being an avid roller coaster junkie, I had been coerced onto the scream creators more times than I can remember growing up.

But what came out of my newlywed wife's mouth kind of threw me: "You're not going on one of those ever again," I think was the statement.

I am sure I played it off at the time as simple concern for her newly-minted husband, and didn't really think much of it. After all, we'd just entered into a relationship (partnership, you could also say) and it probably spooked her, never one for any sort of ride wilder than the spinning teacups at Disneyland.

So the thought of her husband flying almost straight down a hundred-foot-long track at blazing speed and taking curves and loops - with both hands in the air and screaming - was more than she could bare to imagine.

In reality, extreme amusement park rides are relatively safe. According to a 2005 report at cbsnews.com, the world's fixed-site amusement park rides average two fatalities per year. Not exactly a high mortality rate when compared to everyday-activity deaths like automobile accidents.

I've had nothing but good experiences with thrill rides - I've been on plenty of them in my earlier years. From Kings Island in Ohio to Valleyfair outside Minneapolis to Elitch Gardens in Denver to Magic Mountain north of Los Angeles and many in between, I guess I have had my share of white-knuckle fun.

And I really couldn't tell you the names of most of them. I can tell you the wooden roller coaster at Elitch Gardens (The Twister) made you think twice about hopping on, just waiting in line.

As the cars would go by overhead, you could watch the old wooden supports, reaching probably 75 feet in the air, flex and buckle under the stress, with nails protruding a few inches or so, seemingly ready to fall out. Dad always brought such issues to my attention, all the while chuckling while I pondered if we would be cheating death once again.

The Twister had a few good drops and a 90-degree curve and drop into a tunnel, with the ensuing darkness definitely adding to the hysteric effect.

Like many other mid-century wooden coasters, if you sat in the middle cars, you could actually lift off the tracks for a few seconds on a steep descent, heightening the heartbeat, especially the first time it happens to you.

I figured after my first time, if that didn't make me lose a bodily function, then nothing ever would - good to go.

After that, I was up for anything. I hit all the toughest coasters and thrill rides in the western half of the country, all the way through my college years.

Does it go upside down a few times? I'm in. High G-forces? Gimme. What's that? The new one at Magic Mountain dangles your legs as you hang on for dear life? Why aren't we there already?

And so it went, until settling down meant, well, settling down.

And I don't blame my wife. Surely in her mind I was to wind up a vegetable at some point, thus actually testing her love and willingness to feed me through a straw and clean up the remnants and byproducts.

In her mind, obviously there is something wrong with a person that would willingly poke at death by jumping on a thrill ride.

Last week we were watching television and a roller coaster hit a drop, with all aboard letting out a satisfying shout, leading her to inquire, "Would you go on that if you had the chance?"

When I quickly (and without an ounce of forethought) replied, "Sure," She just as quickly objected with a stern "Oh, no, you won't!"

And so it goes. Who knows - maybe I've stood in my last thrill ride line. Maybe not.

And yes, I know what you're thinking. Silverwood, with its two wooden coasters, is just minutes away. What's that? They have a new metal coaster called Aftershock with a 177-foot drop and three inversions you hit at 65 mph, going forward and then backward?

Gimme.

Jerry Hitchcock used to be a thrill junkie and is now a copy editor for The Press. He can be reached at 664-8176, Ext. 2017, or via email at [email protected].