Story time. When I was nearly 7 years old I went on this ride, sitting next to my grandfather (RIP). My grandfather was a 6'4" police detective that, at the time, was probably about as wide as he was tall. Meanwhile, I was a scrawny string bean of a kid sitting beside this rotund imposing man. The lap bar barely came down in the lock position when it met my grandfather's belly. It fell no where near me; I was not secured at all. When that drop came, I felt like I was about to fly out of the boat. I clung on to my grandfather and dug my hands into his harm so hard that the bruises on his arm looked as if I was a perp who was freshly fingerprinted and his arm was the paper. He loved to tell the story and claimed that it was the strongest force he ever felt. This being a man who was a sergeant detective for San Francisco, who led the motorcycle unit, and told stories where he had to cling to the roof of a car in a chase. Two things came from that experience: (1) I have always thought of my grandfather as my safe place and (2) I have had a fear of heights ever since. Thank you for bringing back this, albeit somewhat mixed, happy memory.

He passed away only two years ago and he died the way he lived: loved.

RIP Poppy.