Roller coasters, the only category where the “worst of” can reasonably be called the “best of,” are as unique as individual lovers. Do they sweep you off your feet, all suave and powerful, as befits a hulk of twisted steel? Or, like a psychotic ex-girlfriend, are they a mad roll in the hay, genetically programmed for drama-rama and mayhem? Three roller-coaster loci exist in Los Angeles. In ascending order of fear-inducing magnitude, they are: Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm and Magic Mountain. I rode. I puked. Like Pelle, I (sort of) conquered.... More >>>