The greatest roller coaster in the world lives in the San Francisco area, 
and it is called Highway 280. It ascends into the hills and then, when it 
gets to Redwood City, it brings a long, speedy, precipitous decline into 
the valleys, curving back and forth to avoid obstacles, gravity's pull 
sending your vehicle hurtling faster and faster down the road. 

The experience is a telling one. Many people put on the brakes, unable to 
stand the speed, the rush; some people just let go and enjoy the ride; 
some people direct their car in and out of other people's cars, dictating 
their ride, hitting the accelerator to match gravity's donation, watching 
the needle point further and further to the right until the miles per hour 
reach triple digits, slaloming with the road. It's the closest thing one 
can get to flying in a car, the picturesque scenery flying by like a bad 
hyperspace animation, down, down, down into the depths of the earth, and 
then up again, gathering steam for another plunge, passing the exits one 
at a time and waving to these fixed onlookers.

The whole thing lasts about twenty minutes, much longer than most 
rollercoasters, and, to boot, instead of waiting in line for it it is 
there whenever you wanted, and it drops you off in San Francisco instead 
of back in a crowded theme park. You have your own personal car, you pick 
the soundtrack, and you get a lovely open vista of trees or sunsets or 
stars, depending on the time of day. It is the greatest rollercoaster in 
the world.