[TRAVELS] Fujikyu Highland
It may not be obvious from my writings to date, but I am just a little bit of a coaster maniac. So on Thursday, following weeks of planning, I took a trip to the revered Fujikyu Highland. It was a long time coming -- after all, it was only my second visit in roughly as many months.
The trip was fantastic from the very start. I headed out to the old peoples' part of town to pick up my co-venturer Kayo. Maybe two kilometers from the rendezvous spot, I got pulled over by a cop. Driving in a lane reserved for buses from 7:30 AM to 9:30 AM, he said. I had no idea bus lanes existed, and there certainly aren't any in my part of town. Also, I was tailing a big van, so I probably missed any signs on the curb or asphalt. But I just wanted to get to the park as soon as possible, so I copped to everything. It never even occurred to me to try the clueless gaijin card. The officer was a nice enough guy, but he took his sweet time to write out the ticket and advise me of the 6,000 yen fine (that's 1,200 yen more than a day pass at Fujikyu, mind you) before I was let on my merry way.
Now suitably late, I gathered Kayo in the passenger seat and motored onto the expressway. I recommended to Kayo that we keep our juiciest stories for the slow lines at the park (namely Dodonpa), so our tour of the Chuo Expressway was filled with only innocuous conversation. We were making good time despite my run-in with the law, and we were on target for a 9:30 AM arrival, only 30 minutes after the park opening. That's when the empty gas tank indicator light came on.
Cursing my luck and any other recent users of the Ham-mobile, I saw no choice but to pull off at the next exit, the sleepy town of Tsuru. I got a half tank of gas in the car and turned around to get back on the freeway. Except that there's only one on-ramp, and it heads in the opposite direction, back toward Otsuki. I think this explains why the off-ramp toll booth operator had that wry smile on his face when I asked for the nearest gas station.
Our only choice, all the way to Fujiyoshida, was the surface streets. The traffic meandered at a slow country bumpkin pace for a few kilometers, then gridlocked. Ahead of me was a blue-green car whose driver kept craning his neck up and around the traffic jam.
That's when it happened. Captain Insano suddenly yanked his blue-green car onto a small side street and sped off. I thought quickly about his haste and his local Yamanashi license plate, then took off behind him. Thus began Inaka Coaster. Kayo's job was to keep the blue-green car in view as it darted around tight corners and ducked behind old houses. My job was to focus on staying with the many curves in the narrow road while keeping the car from rolling over onto someone's vegetable crop or plowing into a pedestrian grandma. It was tough, and Captain Insano vanished from view after about 6 minutes' chase. Needless to say, it was a blast and we were laughing the entire way. I figured out the rest by using the navigation system and eventually got back onto the main street. It was still crowded but tolerable. I figure that Insano saved us a good 30-40 minutes. We drove through the park's very ugly entrance monument at 10:15 or so, then careened into the nearest reasonable parking spot.
Muhammad Ali jacket: Check.
Sunglasses: Check.
Camera: Check.
Very appropriate silver sneakers: Check.
Money: Check.
And then we went in.
I had our queue strategy all worked out. I expected that first-timers and casual visitors would line up at Fujiyama, the brand name ride of the park. As it turned out, that line was spilling out all the way into the sunshine, several switchbacks past the Fujiyama ticket window. So we stuck to the plan and unhesitatingly headed for Dodonpa. In the car, I asked Kayo whether she'd be OK with going straight for Dodonpa without a warm-up ride. I described the ride dynamics, especially the launch and the large hill, so she could make an educated decision. She said it would be fine; still, I had my concerns because of her lack of prior Dodonpa experience. We got into line just inside of the 60 minute marker, but the ride was running at peak with three cars and our wait was probably only 45-50 minutes. During the wait time, I was able to tell one of my better recent stories, which of course cannot be repeated here in print. Finally, we boarded the Mother car.
I knew what to expect from the ride, and that made it better. The launch was exhilarating. I had my arms up for all of the lightning-quick acceleration to 172 km/h (106.9 mi/h) and then some. The negative Gs at the top of the hill were great too. I tried to amplify the effect by, again, keeping my hands up. Kayo loved it. She said that there was no way she could have conceived what the aircraft carrier-like launch would be like without experiencing it, but it was better than anything she imagined. She is also apparently quite the negative G-addict.
(That's not Kayo, by the way, just some lucky random girl.)
When the car pulled back into the station I caught a peek at the line, and it looked to be about an hour. So the queue strategy next required us to head straight for my favorite, the 2006-built Eejanaika. Several Dodonpa riders shared our view and headed in the same direction. Kayo marvelled from the ground at the beautiful track and the incredible first drop, but I managed to dissuade her from wasting time taking pictures right then and there. We got to the queues, one each to the left and right sides of the track. Social human nature dictated that the right side would be longer, and theory held true to form. We elected the left side for the first Eejanaika ride of the day and waited around 35 minutes.
I gave Kayo the wilder outside seat, and the 90-degree drop stripped her of consciousness. I don't know if I heard another thing out of her for the rest of the ride, and she would later say that she had no idea what was going on. (I suppose that's the way it goes unless you study up on the track details a little bit.) So she didn't realize when we were in the full-full (when the cars rotate 360 degrees around the track while the seats themselves rotate 360 degrees laterally in relation to the track), and there was no way she was prepared for the camera point.
I, on the other hand, was ready. In response to a request by some girls I know from work, I pulled out the Kenju face. For those who have never seen it, it is a semi-famous facial expression in Tokyo business circles, most often seen in connection with busted M&A deals and aborted takeover attempts. Elsewhere, I put my faith into the design of the harness system and spread my arms and legs out as much as possible. It was splendid, and was at least every bit as exciting as my first Eejanaika adventure in January.
Kayo got re-steadied on her land legs in the photo shop and in the souvenirs area, where I picked up a justifiably unattractive Eejanaika T-shirt. We glanced at the Eejanaika queue and noted that it was about the same length as earlier. I asked Kayo whether she wanted to line up for the same ride again or Fujiyama before we grabbed some lunch. She suggested we check out Fujiyama. I had no objections, thinking that the morning's Fujiyama crowd had probably moved further into the park by now.
No one. We raced up the Fujiyama station structure to the top level and boarded car #1 in only about 10 minutes. Unfortunately, we were in the second row. The choice first row seats were occupied by none other than Kim Jong-Il and a large Asian Pat, which was quite contrary to what the media has led us all to believe about his tastes in female (?) companions.
Fujiyama's lift hill and first drop are pretty exciting, and the view of Mt. Fuji as the train slowly crawls around for the second drop is beautiful, but as a ride it has been vastly eclipsed by Dodonpa and Eejanaika. All the same, the length of the ride almost always justifies the relatively short queue time, and if you have strong ribs and neck muscles, the Togo torture section at the end can be somewhat fun.
Back down at the photo shop, it took us more than a few seconds to find our picture. So powerful was the presence of Kim Jong-Il. I was upstaged by the interrigent dictator but undaunted, and when the photo shop girl asked me for my order I did not hesitate in the least.
"One photo . . ."
She nodded and punched away at her machine.
"And three mugs." (Fujiyama is the only ride that offers a souvenir mug.)
She stopped pressing buttons, and looked up at me like I was crazy or something.
"Three?" she said. It wasn't so much a question as her re-stating it to herself in an attempt to comprehend it.
Thanks to my Sherlock Holmes-like powers of perception, I could sense that she was not going to let me have three souvenir photo mugs, for whatever incomprehensible reason. I offered, "Three is impossible?"
She replied, "Well, it takes two hours to make one, and we are only open until 5 PM." I wouldn't exactly call that an answer to my question.
"OK," I said, "How about two?"
"Two?" Again, in the same tone. Photo shop girl gave me no response. "If it would help, I can come back to pick them up tomorrow." More incredulous silence.
I gave. "I can only buy one, huh?" She assented, and that was the end of our fruitful negotiations. Kayo remarked that the only way I was going to get another mug was to ride Fujiyama again. More on that later. But we do have that momentous, life-changing ride with Kim Jong-Il captured on porcelain.
(For those of you that don't quite recognize the rittle ronery Supreme Commander of the Korean People's Army, keep in mind that the wearing of glasses on Fujiyama is strictly forbidden.)
We went off in search of lunch. We looked at menus one after the other, advertising nothing but the most health-endangering choices. Our quest for healthier fare took us just about around the entire park. It was then that we noticed that the queue at Eejanaika was very short. The right side queue wasn't much longer than the left, and it looked to me like a 20-25 minute wait. We scrambled onto the end of the line and patted ourselves on the back for deciding to do our second Eejanaika run before eating, rather than after.
Then the heavens smiled, and we got the first row, Kayo on the inside, me on the outside. It was astounding. The first row shrieks all the way through the straight drop from the lift hill. All the movements are more violent. I tried to smile for the camera this time but my face muscles wouldn't cooperate due to the intense speed and lurch of the cars. At some point during the latter half of the ride, I hurt my left thigh when my body inadvertently curved into a ball and a sudden direction change whacked me against one of the steel safety handles. It might have been my greatest coaster experience ever.
No mementos this time, so we resumed our lunch hunt. We eventually came to the realization that non-hazardous foods were somehow outlawed on the park grounds, and gave up. We checked into the Lagoon, a cafeteria-like operation in the middle of Fujikyu Highland. I figured that if I was going to eat badly, I was going to max out on badness. I ordered a katsu curry and a melon soda. Of course, there was no way I could finish it. I reasoned that I would have time to digest all that junk while waiting for Dodonpa.
Kayo asked me for the time and I responded that it was 2:15 PM.
Kayo said, "Didn't that girl at the photo shop say that it takes two hours to make a mug?"
Which meant that, if I wanted another mug, I would have to ride Fujiyama by 3:00!
Seconds later, we were back in the Fujiyama line. And not 15 minutes later, way before our 3:00 deadline, we were back in the photo shop. My arch-enemy was still on duty. I think she recognized me. She asked us to select between a photo and stickers.
"No more mugs today?" I politely asked.
She shot me that look again, the same one she wore hours earlier when she said, "Three?"
"No," she replied. "We are done with mugs for today." She was joined behind the counter by another staff member who was making mugs. While Kayo and I discussed whether to get a photo or stickers, I distinctly saw the photo shop succubus walk over to her colleague and do a nudge nudge, wink wink as if to say, "This guy is that serial murderer I was telling you about."
A little forlorn (OK, maybe it was just me), we settled for the stickers. During lunch, I had received a special email request from Geppuko to do the 「アメメ」 (the "Ameme"), Baby Amelie's gesture to convey implacable grief and global suffering, or even just light incontinence or mild confusion. I don't think I could have pulled it off any better, if I do say so myself.
We were nearing our goal of riding the big three of Fujiyama, Dodonpa and Eejanaika twice each. All that was left to do was to get into the hour-long line at Dodonpa. Right behind us in the queue was a white dude, solo. Clearly one of those abhorrent roller coaster dorks. Kayo suggested I strike up a conversation with him. I was offended.
But maybe I should have, because it might have been karma that put us in the last row, this time in the Father car. As soon as the coaster dork realized he would be in the first row of the next car all alone, he lit up like the Death Star. I envied him.
I enjoyed our second Dodonpa ride nonetheless, and it felt just as good as our first in the morning. For the camera shot this time, I re-enacted a special gesture called the koregurai? -- it is meant to indicate how long my long my jet-black locks were way back when I wanted to be a girl. Just kidding.
I checked my watch. We had accomplished our six-ride goal at just past 4:10 PM. That left plenty of time for Fujikyu's famous haunted hospital (a walkthrough of over 600 meters containing nothing but inadvisable things for pregnant persons), or so we thought. The attraction was already shut down for the day, and the zombie doctors wearing blood-stained lab coats were outside smoking cigarettes. Labor regulations, I assume.
We filled out the remaining time by riding the park's version of Drop Zone and the extreme Viking-styled PaniClock. We fought through the crowds to buy last-minute gifts and knick-knacks. And then we were done.
Well, I love Fujikyu Highland. I could even be persuaded to buy a park attendant windbreaker if they sold it.
The trip was fantastic from the very start. I headed out to the old peoples' part of town to pick up my co-venturer Kayo. Maybe two kilometers from the rendezvous spot, I got pulled over by a cop. Driving in a lane reserved for buses from 7:30 AM to 9:30 AM, he said. I had no idea bus lanes existed, and there certainly aren't any in my part of town. Also, I was tailing a big van, so I probably missed any signs on the curb or asphalt. But I just wanted to get to the park as soon as possible, so I copped to everything. It never even occurred to me to try the clueless gaijin card. The officer was a nice enough guy, but he took his sweet time to write out the ticket and advise me of the 6,000 yen fine (that's 1,200 yen more than a day pass at Fujikyu, mind you) before I was let on my merry way.
Now suitably late, I gathered Kayo in the passenger seat and motored onto the expressway. I recommended to Kayo that we keep our juiciest stories for the slow lines at the park (namely Dodonpa), so our tour of the Chuo Expressway was filled with only innocuous conversation. We were making good time despite my run-in with the law, and we were on target for a 9:30 AM arrival, only 30 minutes after the park opening. That's when the empty gas tank indicator light came on.
Cursing my luck and any other recent users of the Ham-mobile, I saw no choice but to pull off at the next exit, the sleepy town of Tsuru. I got a half tank of gas in the car and turned around to get back on the freeway. Except that there's only one on-ramp, and it heads in the opposite direction, back toward Otsuki. I think this explains why the off-ramp toll booth operator had that wry smile on his face when I asked for the nearest gas station.
Our only choice, all the way to Fujiyoshida, was the surface streets. The traffic meandered at a slow country bumpkin pace for a few kilometers, then gridlocked. Ahead of me was a blue-green car whose driver kept craning his neck up and around the traffic jam.
That's when it happened. Captain Insano suddenly yanked his blue-green car onto a small side street and sped off. I thought quickly about his haste and his local Yamanashi license plate, then took off behind him. Thus began Inaka Coaster. Kayo's job was to keep the blue-green car in view as it darted around tight corners and ducked behind old houses. My job was to focus on staying with the many curves in the narrow road while keeping the car from rolling over onto someone's vegetable crop or plowing into a pedestrian grandma. It was tough, and Captain Insano vanished from view after about 6 minutes' chase. Needless to say, it was a blast and we were laughing the entire way. I figured out the rest by using the navigation system and eventually got back onto the main street. It was still crowded but tolerable. I figure that Insano saved us a good 30-40 minutes. We drove through the park's very ugly entrance monument at 10:15 or so, then careened into the nearest reasonable parking spot.
Muhammad Ali jacket: Check.
Sunglasses: Check.
Camera: Check.
Very appropriate silver sneakers: Check.
Money: Check.
And then we went in.
I had our queue strategy all worked out. I expected that first-timers and casual visitors would line up at Fujiyama, the brand name ride of the park. As it turned out, that line was spilling out all the way into the sunshine, several switchbacks past the Fujiyama ticket window. So we stuck to the plan and unhesitatingly headed for Dodonpa. In the car, I asked Kayo whether she'd be OK with going straight for Dodonpa without a warm-up ride. I described the ride dynamics, especially the launch and the large hill, so she could make an educated decision. She said it would be fine; still, I had my concerns because of her lack of prior Dodonpa experience. We got into line just inside of the 60 minute marker, but the ride was running at peak with three cars and our wait was probably only 45-50 minutes. During the wait time, I was able to tell one of my better recent stories, which of course cannot be repeated here in print. Finally, we boarded the Mother car.
I knew what to expect from the ride, and that made it better. The launch was exhilarating. I had my arms up for all of the lightning-quick acceleration to 172 km/h (106.9 mi/h) and then some. The negative Gs at the top of the hill were great too. I tried to amplify the effect by, again, keeping my hands up. Kayo loved it. She said that there was no way she could have conceived what the aircraft carrier-like launch would be like without experiencing it, but it was better than anything she imagined. She is also apparently quite the negative G-addict.
(That's not Kayo, by the way, just some lucky random girl.)
When the car pulled back into the station I caught a peek at the line, and it looked to be about an hour. So the queue strategy next required us to head straight for my favorite, the 2006-built Eejanaika. Several Dodonpa riders shared our view and headed in the same direction. Kayo marvelled from the ground at the beautiful track and the incredible first drop, but I managed to dissuade her from wasting time taking pictures right then and there. We got to the queues, one each to the left and right sides of the track. Social human nature dictated that the right side would be longer, and theory held true to form. We elected the left side for the first Eejanaika ride of the day and waited around 35 minutes.
I gave Kayo the wilder outside seat, and the 90-degree drop stripped her of consciousness. I don't know if I heard another thing out of her for the rest of the ride, and she would later say that she had no idea what was going on. (I suppose that's the way it goes unless you study up on the track details a little bit.) So she didn't realize when we were in the full-full (when the cars rotate 360 degrees around the track while the seats themselves rotate 360 degrees laterally in relation to the track), and there was no way she was prepared for the camera point.
I, on the other hand, was ready. In response to a request by some girls I know from work, I pulled out the Kenju face. For those who have never seen it, it is a semi-famous facial expression in Tokyo business circles, most often seen in connection with busted M&A deals and aborted takeover attempts. Elsewhere, I put my faith into the design of the harness system and spread my arms and legs out as much as possible. It was splendid, and was at least every bit as exciting as my first Eejanaika adventure in January.
Kayo got re-steadied on her land legs in the photo shop and in the souvenirs area, where I picked up a justifiably unattractive Eejanaika T-shirt. We glanced at the Eejanaika queue and noted that it was about the same length as earlier. I asked Kayo whether she wanted to line up for the same ride again or Fujiyama before we grabbed some lunch. She suggested we check out Fujiyama. I had no objections, thinking that the morning's Fujiyama crowd had probably moved further into the park by now.
No one. We raced up the Fujiyama station structure to the top level and boarded car #1 in only about 10 minutes. Unfortunately, we were in the second row. The choice first row seats were occupied by none other than Kim Jong-Il and a large Asian Pat, which was quite contrary to what the media has led us all to believe about his tastes in female (?) companions.
Fujiyama's lift hill and first drop are pretty exciting, and the view of Mt. Fuji as the train slowly crawls around for the second drop is beautiful, but as a ride it has been vastly eclipsed by Dodonpa and Eejanaika. All the same, the length of the ride almost always justifies the relatively short queue time, and if you have strong ribs and neck muscles, the Togo torture section at the end can be somewhat fun.
Back down at the photo shop, it took us more than a few seconds to find our picture. So powerful was the presence of Kim Jong-Il. I was upstaged by the interrigent dictator but undaunted, and when the photo shop girl asked me for my order I did not hesitate in the least.
"One photo . . ."
She nodded and punched away at her machine.
"And three mugs." (Fujiyama is the only ride that offers a souvenir mug.)
She stopped pressing buttons, and looked up at me like I was crazy or something.
"Three?" she said. It wasn't so much a question as her re-stating it to herself in an attempt to comprehend it.
Thanks to my Sherlock Holmes-like powers of perception, I could sense that she was not going to let me have three souvenir photo mugs, for whatever incomprehensible reason. I offered, "Three is impossible?"
She replied, "Well, it takes two hours to make one, and we are only open until 5 PM." I wouldn't exactly call that an answer to my question.
"OK," I said, "How about two?"
"Two?" Again, in the same tone. Photo shop girl gave me no response. "If it would help, I can come back to pick them up tomorrow." More incredulous silence.
I gave. "I can only buy one, huh?" She assented, and that was the end of our fruitful negotiations. Kayo remarked that the only way I was going to get another mug was to ride Fujiyama again. More on that later. But we do have that momentous, life-changing ride with Kim Jong-Il captured on porcelain.
(For those of you that don't quite recognize the rittle ronery Supreme Commander of the Korean People's Army, keep in mind that the wearing of glasses on Fujiyama is strictly forbidden.)
We went off in search of lunch. We looked at menus one after the other, advertising nothing but the most health-endangering choices. Our quest for healthier fare took us just about around the entire park. It was then that we noticed that the queue at Eejanaika was very short. The right side queue wasn't much longer than the left, and it looked to me like a 20-25 minute wait. We scrambled onto the end of the line and patted ourselves on the back for deciding to do our second Eejanaika run before eating, rather than after.
Then the heavens smiled, and we got the first row, Kayo on the inside, me on the outside. It was astounding. The first row shrieks all the way through the straight drop from the lift hill. All the movements are more violent. I tried to smile for the camera this time but my face muscles wouldn't cooperate due to the intense speed and lurch of the cars. At some point during the latter half of the ride, I hurt my left thigh when my body inadvertently curved into a ball and a sudden direction change whacked me against one of the steel safety handles. It might have been my greatest coaster experience ever.
No mementos this time, so we resumed our lunch hunt. We eventually came to the realization that non-hazardous foods were somehow outlawed on the park grounds, and gave up. We checked into the Lagoon, a cafeteria-like operation in the middle of Fujikyu Highland. I figured that if I was going to eat badly, I was going to max out on badness. I ordered a katsu curry and a melon soda. Of course, there was no way I could finish it. I reasoned that I would have time to digest all that junk while waiting for Dodonpa.
Kayo asked me for the time and I responded that it was 2:15 PM.
Kayo said, "Didn't that girl at the photo shop say that it takes two hours to make a mug?"
Which meant that, if I wanted another mug, I would have to ride Fujiyama by 3:00!
Seconds later, we were back in the Fujiyama line. And not 15 minutes later, way before our 3:00 deadline, we were back in the photo shop. My arch-enemy was still on duty. I think she recognized me. She asked us to select between a photo and stickers.
"No more mugs today?" I politely asked.
She shot me that look again, the same one she wore hours earlier when she said, "Three?"
"No," she replied. "We are done with mugs for today." She was joined behind the counter by another staff member who was making mugs. While Kayo and I discussed whether to get a photo or stickers, I distinctly saw the photo shop succubus walk over to her colleague and do a nudge nudge, wink wink as if to say, "This guy is that serial murderer I was telling you about."
A little forlorn (OK, maybe it was just me), we settled for the stickers. During lunch, I had received a special email request from Geppuko to do the 「アメメ」 (the "Ameme"), Baby Amelie's gesture to convey implacable grief and global suffering, or even just light incontinence or mild confusion. I don't think I could have pulled it off any better, if I do say so myself.
We were nearing our goal of riding the big three of Fujiyama, Dodonpa and Eejanaika twice each. All that was left to do was to get into the hour-long line at Dodonpa. Right behind us in the queue was a white dude, solo. Clearly one of those abhorrent roller coaster dorks. Kayo suggested I strike up a conversation with him. I was offended.
But maybe I should have, because it might have been karma that put us in the last row, this time in the Father car. As soon as the coaster dork realized he would be in the first row of the next car all alone, he lit up like the Death Star. I envied him.
I enjoyed our second Dodonpa ride nonetheless, and it felt just as good as our first in the morning. For the camera shot this time, I re-enacted a special gesture called the koregurai? -- it is meant to indicate how long my long my jet-black locks were way back when I wanted to be a girl. Just kidding.
I checked my watch. We had accomplished our six-ride goal at just past 4:10 PM. That left plenty of time for Fujikyu's famous haunted hospital (a walkthrough of over 600 meters containing nothing but inadvisable things for pregnant persons), or so we thought. The attraction was already shut down for the day, and the zombie doctors wearing blood-stained lab coats were outside smoking cigarettes. Labor regulations, I assume.
We filled out the remaining time by riding the park's version of Drop Zone and the extreme Viking-styled PaniClock. We fought through the crowds to buy last-minute gifts and knick-knacks. And then we were done.
Well, I love Fujikyu Highland. I could even be persuaded to buy a park attendant windbreaker if they sold it.
posted by hamu86 at 11:00 AM
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