There are a few things you might expect to catch mid-rollercoaster: a rush of wind, that sinking feeling in your stomach, perhaps a fleeting grip of regret right before the big drop. But this summer at Kings Island amusement park in Mason, Ohio, available for the truly adventurous, is the increasingly likely chance that you’ll catch an actual insect—specifically, a cicada, delivered straight to the back of your throat at 60 miles per hour.

Brood 14 and the Amusement Park Gauntlet

As Scripps News Group documents, Brood 14 cicadas have been surfacing en masse in southwest Ohio, painting tree trunks with their shells and adding a pulsing hum to the ever-present noise of shrieking riders. Dr. Gene Kritsky from Mount St. Joseph University explained that this particular brood—spotted by the pilgrims as far back as 1634—has serious historical credentials. Of course, while their ancestors may have impressed early colonists, there’s no record of anyone being dive-bombed on a wooden roller coaster in those days.

Emergence has even been staggered in and around Kings Island, with Dr. Kritsky noting in Scripps’ coverage that different towns saw waves of cicada activity at slightly different times—turning the whole region into a very noisy, very mobile entomology exhibit.

When Cicadas Crash Your TikTok

As Scripps News Group reports, the amusement park invasion hasn’t gone undocumented: plenty of visitors have posted about surprise cicada encounters on TikTok. Butler County mom Hope Daniels, for instance, shared a story about her young son Oliver, who is usually “all about bugs and earth”—except, apparently, when it comes to the cicadas themselves. Scripps highlights that Oliver hurriedly discovered a cicada hitchhiking on his shirt as they entered the park, just one of the insect-filled moments shared by families tackling thrill rides and insects alike.

WHIO’s reporting echoes this, describing Daniels’ observations of a noticeable progression among parkgoers—from initial squeamishness, illustrated by her son’s wariness, to a growing camaraderie. According to Daniels, as cited in both outlets, “We’re taking them with us on the roller coasters, we are loving on them, so I’m hoping that it’s moving more from fear to embracing and loving the cicadas.” The transformation is documented not just through anecdotes but through a growing crop of videos where cicadas more or less co-star with rollercoaster enthusiasts.

To Scream, or Not to Scream

Dr. Kritsky offered perhaps the summer’s most practical amusement park guidance, as documented by both Scripps and WHIO: “Just enjoy the cicadas and when you’re on the ride, keep your mouth closed.” With every tree around the park nearly encased in cicadas and the air thick with their buzz, screaming with reckless abandon is no longer a consequence-free option.

Daniels recounted—per both outlets’ coverage—that her six-year-old imparted this wisdom to their entire group before boarding: tightly sealed lips are the only reliable defense against an unexpected bug snack. Oliver’s pride in staying silent for the duration of the ride—not a scream, not even a peep—is as impressive as it is practical.

Reflections From the Rollercoaster Queue

Every few years, nature loves to remind us about the unpredictability woven into even our controlled spaces—from the shrieking boredom of the 17-year cicada cycle to the shrieking disbelief on a looping coaster. Practical wisdom has its day: this is one time keeping your mouth shut isn’t about politeness, but about not getting a crunchy surprise during the big drop.

One can’t help but imagine what future Brood 14 generations will think, should they evolve enough to scroll through TikTok. For now, really, it’s just one more moment—equal parts inconvenience, spectacle, and dinner party anecdote—courtesy of life’s persistent oddities.

Are the cicada-laden rollercoaster rides a new rite of passage? Is this the most Ohio summer ever documented? Or does everyone secretly suspect this will all end up in a future “remember when” thread, just with more chitin? In a world where the unexpected lurks around every corner—or swoops, buzzing, into your face at 50 miles per hour—sometimes the best you can do is keep your mouth shut, hang on, and enjoy the ride.