When you read the Glenwood Caverns inspection record, the first thing you notice is how unremarkable it appears. a signature. a June date. The ride complied with state regulations, as indicated by a checked box. When a six-year-old girl from Colorado Springs died three months later, the same documents that had approved the ride became the most closely examined document in the state. Now that you’ve read it, it’s difficult not to wonder what an inspector is actually supposed to find in a single visit—and what they’re secretly trusted to overlook.
Like the majority of states, Colorado virtually completely excludes the federal government from this. The Division of Oil and Public Safety, housed within the Department of Labor and Employment, is responsible for overseeing approximately 200 ride operators and approximately 900 rides located throughout the state. This includes the pop-up carnivals that appear in church parking lots and county fairgrounds for a weekend before vanishing, as well as the permanent parks that visitors travel for hours to get to. For a small office, it’s a broad net.
Third-party inspectors, or private contractors authorized to approve rides prior to their public opening, are a major component of the state’s own model. This issue has been brought up by critics for years, and following the Glenwood incident, it was loudly brought up once more. The structure is unsettling because the operators who run the rides frequently pay the inspectors. This is not unique to Colorado. However, it’s also not comforting.
The division’s Greg Johnson has provided a measured description of the post-incident procedure, including investigations, operator manuals, potential regulatory changes, and whatever is necessary to ensure that it doesn’t occur again. An audit inspector is employed by the state to conduct blind checks, which include following a third-party inspector to see if anything was overlooked or unexpectedly stopping by to observe rides in operation. Just one auditor. for the whole state. It’s the kind of information that appears subtly in a press release but becomes more noticeable the more you consider it.
The waiver comes next. The routine is familiar to anyone who has waited in line at a zip line or ropes course: a clipboard, a small-print paragraph, and a signature that is given without actually reading. Colorado lawyer Stephen Longo, who has discussed these cases in public, has noted that these waivers typically stand up in court, with exceptions typically saved for egregious negligence. The legal standard is quite high. A bereaved family must demonstrate not only that something went wrong, but that it went wrong in a way that went beyond negligence to the verge of recklessness.
Ride-related injuries are statistically uncommon, as the industry’s defenders quickly point out. Data from 177 fixed-site parks in North America is tracked by the International Association of Amusement Parks and Attractions, and the numbers are low by population. That is accurate. For anyone who has watched a news report about a child being thrown from a seat that, on paper, had passed inspection that same summer, it is also a somewhat disappointing response.
Observing this over several Colorado seasons now gives the impression that the rules aren’t so much broken as they are subtly vague and understaffed. The power belongs to the state. The Colorado Code of Regulations contains the same language. It doesn’t always appear to have the staff, the openness, or the publicly accessible records that allow a parent to determine whether a ride is truly safe before giving them a wristband.
Reform is feasible. It’s slow as well. Until then, operators pay inspectors, inspectors sign paperwork, families sign waivers, and everyone hopes the math holds. This uncomfortable compromise is how the system operates every time.
