I am upside down on a roller coaster on a Monday morning, clinging as tightly as possible to the portable microphone I have been tasked with protecting on this excursion.

We are flying at nearly 70 miles an hour. My eyes are closed, naturally, so I am relying on my coworkers, videographer Abigail Landwehr and photographer Francisco Kjolseth, to document our time on Cannibal, the park’s “most-thrilling ride.”

I’m working, I remind myself, and I volunteered to do this.

Then, I scream into the microphone the subject of my latest feature: Lagoon Amusement Park’s 140th anniversary.

As someone who grew up in Utah, this is not my first trip to Lagoon, but it is my first venture on a rollercoaster that goes upside down. Anything for journalism, I say.

This is one thing that has changed since my last visit to Lagoon over a decade ago — I’ve conquered (OK, OK, I’m working on conquering) my fear of upside-down rides. I promised Abigail and Francisco that I would try anything before lunch, so I stuck to my word. Although it must be stated for the record that I chickened out of Nutcracker, Lagoon’s newest ride, which swings you 150 feet in the air.

I have my limits.

Lagoon has changed — that much is clear. At least, in its physical form. This ride we’re on is newish. There are others like it. While historic rides I grew up with, like the Jet Star II roller coaster, have disappeared.

But the feeling of Lagoon is the same, buoyed by some constants: the paint of the carousel, the rickety wood of Roller Coaster, the familiarity of knowing exactly where to find certain rides.

We survive Cannibal, our first ride of the day, and start our stroll through the park. Over the course of this reporting, I’ve heard from employees, Lagoon super fans, and even my own coworkers who feel immense nostalgia for summer days at the park.

Rick Whitehead, a 65-year-old from Layton, remembers riding the historic Roller Coaster as a kid in the 1970s over and over again because of how short the lines were. His record was over 40 times in a row. South Ogden’s Kevin Stephens remembers racing his sister to get on Colossus. A 100-year-old World War II veteran named Bud visited Lagoon with four generations of his family. He rode Roller Coaster again after doing it for the first time at 8 years old. West Valley City resident Aurora Edwards’ first and last ride at Lagoon is always Cannibal.

Even Landwehr, my coworker who grew up in Wyoming, made trips to Lagoon for clogging competitions.

From person after person, I’ve heard stories about generations of Utahns who have ridden the same rides, who have photos of their parents, children, even grandchildren on the baby boats.

I’m probably like a lot of you: my mom and dad’s company offered tickets to its employees every summer. This tradition continued until I was in high school. For me, visiting Lagoon every summer meant freedom. It meant going home with a couple of new stuffed animals. It meant spending the day with families and kids I grew up with.

In a lot of ways, it became as familiar to me as the street we lived on for over a decade.

Sitting in the back seat of our car, my little face would be glued to the glass, anxious to see the crest of coasters from the park — which would not only signal the beginning of a full day of fun, but the end of what I thought to be a ridiculously long drive.

Ahead of my recent trip, I couldn’t help but wonder: Would Lagoon be the same now that I’m an adult?

On the drive over, it already felt different. For one, I was driving myself, no parents in the front seat, or a cooler with snacks next to me. But there was also a promise of a new sense of adventure.

At first, Lagoon seems a bit smaller. The rides: not as big. The games: easier. There are even a couple of bars I could slip into if I want to get away from the crowds of kids.

Yet as I walk through the park and jumped on the rides like Roller Coaster and Turn of the Century with my coworkers, I am most struck by how familiar it felt to be there.

Every corner of the park is bathed in nostalgia. I remember when I first rode Puff the Little Fire Dragon, a children’s roller coaster that made me feel like the coolest big kid ever. In Kiddie Land, I see the bright purple and green of Dragonfly, hear the exhilarating screams from Ladybug Bop.

The remarkable thing about attending Lagoon as an adult is not that you can make the same memories you did as a kid — there’s a sense of wonder and unabashed faith in the world you lose over the years — but that you can reflect on the ones you do have.

If I close my eyes, I can remember my parents standing on the other side of the gates, waving at me while I’m on the rides. I can recognize the spots where childhood photos of me were taken. And as I walk past a ride called Bulgy, where the tiniest park visitors rotate in circles in whale carriers, I can’t help but beam at their gummy smiles, watching parents capture photos.

As a child, I had no adult responsibilities that weighed me down while at Lagoon. At 5, 6, 7 and 8, at the end of the day my only trouble was getting back to the car. My dad would take us home from there.

And while this job brought me back to this park, it reminded me that my favorite memories as a child are not so much about the things I did, or the places I went, but the people I was with — my parents.

It’s people’s memories of the Utah park that make it truly magical. History and nostalgia go hand in hand, which makes it clear why Lagoon has lasted this long, even with the changes.

As I left the park in June, over a decade after visiting it last with my parents, I called them to tell them all about it.

Palak Jayswal is The Tribune’s culture and music reporter.