There are two types of people in this world: those who ride scary rides and those who don’t.

My husband is one who does. I am one who doesn’t. Sometimes when these two worlds collide, the results can be fascinating.

We had the opportunity this past weekend to visit Alabama Adventures in Bessemer. We were with a big group of family members featuring an array of riders (such as Greg) vs. non-riders (like me.)

When we arrived at the park, the older kids, all of whom would swing from a trapeze with no net if given the chance, ran off to do whatever it is children do. Some of the adults went to the water park while another group of us headed over to the area with the smaller rides.

“Are you going to ride anything?” Greg asked. 

“Sure, as long as it doesn’t go off the ground or too fast or makes me sick” I replied. “I will take Sutton to the cars.”

And that’s what I did. She and I rode the cars around, enjoying our time while keeping our feet on the ground. While we were doing that, Greg and others went to the roller coaster, which for some reason they saw as more exciting than driving a car around a round track at 1 mph.

After meeting back up, I noticed Greg looked a little green around the gills. He assured me he was fine, however, not wanting to look like he couldn’t hang with the crowd.

We continued enjoying some rides, including Sutton joining her uncle on the children’s ferris wheel, something that gave me a heart attack.

It was around this time Greg joined some others on another roller coaster. He looked even worse after this spin, opting to sit down on one of the benches when he was done.

Sutton and I were fine, though. Another ride on the cars, a trip to the merry go round and a spin through the children’s water area left us ready for more. 

Right before we left, I took, what was for me, a brave step and rode the whiplash- a herky, jerky ride designed to jar you from the floor up. I rode it with my nephew, Collier and loved every minute. I hopped off and then tried to lasso Greg to ride it with me.

“Come on,” I said, “It will be fun.”

“No thanks,” he said. “I think I’ve had about all the rides I can stand.”

While I wanted him to ride it with me, I understood.

“Welcome to the wimpy side of life,” I said. 

And another one joined the anti-riding club.