I can remember my first Scrambler ride. I was scared. From my vantage point on the ground, I could clearly see the cars whipping riders around too fast.

But my cousin urged me to ride with him. Just give it a try. Soon my mother and even the carnie joined in the game of getting me on the Scrambler.

The Scrambler. Who wants to be scrambled? I’m no egg. The guy running the ride even started to offer bribes. He had a magical toy mouse, see, and he said he’d give it to me if I got on.

That should have been enough to make me avoid the ride at all costs. But after a bunch of cajoling, my own doubts got the best of me. Maybe I would like it … so I got on.

The lap bar snapped into place, locking me into my seat. There was no turning back now. The cars began to swing slowly into motion, and my nervousness began to peak. I braced myself for full speed.

Around and around we flew; the fairgrounds became a blur. I squinted my eyes and hung on tight as the rotating force flung my body against the side, then my cousin, then the side.

Then, ever so subtly, I became accustomed to the ride’s motion. It became less scary and more of a fun, dizzy sensation. I ventured to loosen my grip, throwing my arms into the air.

“Weeeeeee!”

The speed I was reveling in began slowing. The Scrambler high was becoming harder to hold on to, and I could sense the ride coming to an end.

How sad to think — just when I got accustomed to the ride’s rotation, it slowed to a standstill. I wanted to stay on, but I knew it was time to get off. My first Scrambler ride had come to an end. But I never did get the mouse.

Kelly Byer is a senior newspaper major.