We would watch as officials from the state eyeballed the Alpine, looking at the track for any obvious cracks. They stood on the carts to make sure they would bear their weight. Then they’d stack sandbags on them and send them down the chute. When the carts didn’t fly off the track, they appeared satisfied. The whole exercise was pointless, since no two rides on the Alpine were ever the same. Give those sandbags two beers and control of the joystick, and things would be much different.
