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Runaway
Coaster In the days of such technical
wonders from the likes of Bolliger and Mabillard, it is rare to find a
park installing something another park would be happy to divest
themselves of. Indeed, it is such parks like Margate, Flamingoland and
Rotunda that we should keep our eyes on. Although without the budgets of
the conglomerates, with the yearning to own full-circuit coasters we can
always be guaranteed such little wonders popping up now and again. Seaside resorts are a staple part
of Britain, and despite the weather have been a popular retreat for
hundreds of years. Although many seaside amusement parks have fallen
victim to the out-of-town supermarkets of the theme park world, many
have found their true grounding and veritably flourished. Rotunda is perhaps the most
radical example of this. Home of little more than a Wild Cat, in 1998
the parks’ owner brought from Dutch company FAB for little more than
pocket money. On purchase, the ride was little
more than firewood and through the unrelenting labour of just a small
group of the parks’ staff, was made to look as good as new. Against
all odds, many cars were almost completely rebuilt, thirty percent of
the rides’ woodwork replaced, and every inch of wood repainted so that
the parks’ main coaster was a venture to be justly proud of. From many angles, you may as well
have been taken back 100 years. The modest and rickety wooden structure
is virtually on the beach. The rotting structure is painted in a
sympathetic shade of cream, trimmed in a dark maroon. The coaster is one of only two
side friction coasters in the world. Shallow drops mean there is no need
to have up-stop wheels, the wheels that stop the train flying off the
track on drops. Instead, the train runs in a wooden trough. The boards
on the edge control side-to-side movement by having wheels mounted on
the side of the train. The ride continues to be as much
a project as it ever was. On visiting, only one car was operating – in
its’ heyday, anything up to ten can operate, and due to a simple
traffic lights style blocking system, several can be run at once should
the need ever arise. We were assured all other cars were being
overhauled in the parks’ workshops, not after having much more of the
track work being replaced for this season, totalling a neat £75, 000. Since opening, the ride has made
itself much more at home. Rust from bolts stain the structure, paint
wears thin in places and sawn up timber litters the area below. The car
has also been modified to suit the strict protocol that the parks must
adhere to. The back of the car has been extended to offer further
support to the rider and bumper car style seatbelts added for you to
sling over your shoulder. The platform is as reticent an
affair as the rest of the ride. Tucked away in the corner, the original
pay booth. When the ride toured the fairs in the 1920s’, the queue
would pass here. Now, although painted, it can be easily missed although
the broken window may draw your attention to it. One operator looks after the
ride. After pulling the brake leaver, the car coasts into the first part
of the station. Grinning riders leave to the left, before the car is
bodily pushed into the second part of the station where we get in. Each car seats four on two
extremely squidgy sofas. The operator, who ensures you put the seatbelt
on, something that is strongly enforced by the park, clicks a skinny
lapbar into place before you are pushed into the tight right-hand turn
onto the lift hill. The car engages onto the lift
with surprising elegance. Wooden chucks stick out from the side, and
clunk into place as your car passes in case the worst should happen and
the chain snaps. Quaint little touches like this frequent the ride. At the top, you bump into a
right-hand turn which will take you the 180-degrees into the first drop.
The first drop will hardly send your thighs hitting the lap bar as you
struggle to stay in, but the train decently accelerates downwards,
scraping the walkway as it bounces into an upward ascent, taking you
into another rough and shakey turn. As you bounce around on the seat,
you would be right to hold onto the train, of which each side seems to
move independently to the other before you go into another rough and
bouncy drop. This takes you back up and under
the first turn-around, through another 180-degree turn and through the
structure. You rattle into a shallow double dip which takes you down
towards the ground under the structure before once again you rise up
into a final figure-eight taking you around the bottom of the ride on
yet more virtually un-banked turns, into an undulating stretch with some
modest bunny-hops into the final straight where from below, a lever
operated plank of wood bows up underneath to skim the train to a slow
crawl and back into the hands of the operator. As your nose catches the smell of
worn wood, the bar will release and you leave the ride. Although not
perhaps a coaster in the normal sense of the word, Runaway Coaster is
just a glorious ride. Not even on Blackpools’
coasters can you see the side-track bowing under the pressure of your
train rebounding off of it. The circuit is just perfect, and the train
really does pick up some speed on the drops. Where the track gives under the
weight of the car, wood has been scraped from the walkway and as the
underside rubs, the car will perpetually bounce. With the sofa, each
bounce is accentuated and will have you bouncing around and clasping on
for dear life. The ride isn’t thrilling. It is
just an enormous laugh. Rarely can you go on something as antiquated, as
humble as Runaway and come off in disbelief that such an antediluvian
ride can amuse just by the obscure way that it rides. The ride must be as much of a
headache to the park as it is to the repeat rider. On watching the ride,
you appreciate how much each piece of lumber goes through. As the car
goes around, the wood just bends like balsa.
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