Between the end of a line and the click of a lap bar, there’s a moment when the logical part of your brain silently observes that you’re going to be launched through space at seventy miles per hour in a car built by engineers you’ll never meet, running under safety regulations you’ve never read, and in a nation whose legal system you couldn’t identify. The majority of people repress that idea. Some have discovered—the hard way—that it occasionally merits attention.
Some of the most well-known thrill rides in the world, as well as some of the most heartbreaking accidents, have originated in Europe. The continent’s parks range widely, from the Asterix-themed extravagance of Parc Astérix north of Paris to the well-kept spectacle of Alton Towers in Staffordshire’s undulating hills. The manufacturers are what connect them to parks in Georgia, Ohio, and New Jersey—something the industry hardly ever promotes. A few ride-building companies supply coasters to both American and European parks, so a design that has been flagged as problematic in one nation is frequently still in operation somewhere across the Atlantic.
Before June 2015, the Smiler at Alton Towers, a record-breaking 14-loop steel coaster that cost £18 million to build, had already been closed twice due to safety concerns. Then, on a Tuesday afternoon, engineers overrode the stop mechanism after failing to notice a carriage that had stopped halfway through the ride, allowing another train to enter the empty carriage. There were sixteen injuries. Legs were lost by two teenage girls. It was subsequently described by a judge as a “needless and avoidable accident.” The number of visitors to Alton Towers fell by 25% that year, more than any other major theme park in Europe. While safety procedures were being reviewed, Merlin Entertainments, the operator, closed three similar roller coasters at other parks.
In hindsight, it’s not just the accident that stands out. It’s what the inquiry uncovered about the surrounding culture. The operating instructions for the ride had not been read by the engineers. The ride continued to operate despite the day’s wind speeds exceeding the manufacturer’s stated limit. Reading the details gives the impression that the machinery was trusted more than the people in charge of it, and that those in charge weren’t fully aware of the regulations.
A decade or so ago, Parc Astérix in France was facing a different kind of issue across the Channel. When Goudurix, a steel coaster with seven inversions constructed by Vekoma, first opened in April 1989, it shared the European record for inversions. It continues to operate today. However, for decades, both enthusiasts and casual tourists have described it using language that isn’t exactly consistent with the park’s marketing. One reviewer warned that the first part of the ride was particularly painful and that the rest of the layout wasn’t much better, calling it one of the 1% roughest coasters ever experienced. Because of the abrupt transitions between inversions and the outdated over-the-shoulder restraints, seasoned coaster enthusiasts frequently refer to it as one of the roughest coasters in Europe.
The transatlantic connection becomes uncomfortably specific at this point. Goudurix and Blue Hawk at Six Flags Over Georgia are the only two coasters worldwide with a butterfly inversion element. same producer. same aspect of the design. If the online forums are any indication, the complaints are the same. Vekoma’s rides can be found in several Six Flags locations across the US, Dollywood, and Disney parks. The business has collaborated with numerous Disney and Six Flags locations, among other well-known parks worldwide. That’s not necessarily concerning because Vekoma also produces vehicles with excellent safety records. However, it implies that millions of American families are in some way within driving distance of a design that is causing headline-level concern in France.
It is more difficult to ignore the bigger picture. Amusement park safety consultant Ken Martin bluntly stated that no two U.S. states inspect rides in the same manner, saying, “We’re not even in the same book, state to state.” In 2021 alone, there were an estimated 130 serious ride-related injuries at theme parks in North America. With incident reports dispersed among national regulatory bodies that don’t always compare notes, Europe’s record isn’t cleaner; it’s just differently documented.
It’s important to clarify what this isn’t. It’s not a claim that engineers are careless or that theme parks are covert death traps. A fixed-site ride at a U.S. amusement park has a one in 17 million chance of causing serious injuries, which is about as safe as most activities people never give much thought to. The problem is more specific and, in some respects, more concerning: when something does go wrong, the thread frequently points to shared designs, manufacturers, and safety cultures that haven’t quite kept up with the complexity of the machines they’re operating. It wasn’t a mechanical issue that caused the Smiler to crash. It was a human one, functioning within a system that virtually guaranteed human error.
It’s difficult not to question whether the trust is well-earned when you stand outside a theme park on a summer afternoon and watch families swarm toward the entrance with sunscreen, excitement, and the slightly glazed confidence of people who trust that someone, somewhere, has checked all of this.
