Welcome to Disney’s Animal Kingdom, 1998. Just a decade ago, the Disney-MGM Studios opened as Walt Disney World’s third park, setting a new standard and kicking off a series of “studio” themed parks around the globe. Now, Disney’s reinvented themselves again with a theme park that couldn’t be any different from their Studios. Disney’s Animal Kingdom is the anti-studio park, dispensing entirely with “behind the scenes” and instead transporting guests around the world.
Passing through the overgrown Oasis entry, guests are deposited into Safari Village (which would quickly be renamed Discovery Island when hoards of guests arrived there looking for the park’s starring Kilimanjaro Safaris attraction) from which radiate bridges over the Discovery River. They lead to Africa, Asia, and Camp Minnie-Mickey. But of particular interest today is the fourth crossing, leading to roadside America…
“DINOLAND, U.S.A.”
When you pass under the archway reading “Asia,” all pretense of Disney’s Animal Kingdom melts away, leaving you in the “real,” living kingdom of Anadapur. Likewise, Animal Kingdom’s Africa is made incarnate as the village of Harambe. And so it goes with Dinoland, where – upon passing beneath the land’s entry arch – we step into the very real (albeit far less exotic) locale of… Diggs County, Florida, located just over the state’s border with Georgia along scenic Highway 498 (an homage to the park’s April 1998 opening)
We’ve already touched on the basic interplay here, but it bears repeating – Dinoland is no less “authentic” or “layered” than Harambe, Anadapur, or the later Valley of Mo’ara. It’s just that Animal Kingdom’s ode to prehistory ties this portion of the animal kingdom not to economies of tourism, ecological coexistence, or cultural connection, but to pop culture.
Evidence throughout the land suggests that fossils were first discovered here in 1947. Only then – in the G.I. Bill-fueled, post-war glow of an emerging middle class – and only here – in a land rich with the remains of a prehistoric world – could America’s “Dinoland” appear.
By time we step foot here, it’s decades into the town’s evolution. As environmental storytelling makes clear, we arrive at Dinoland “today” to find this once-sleepy highway exit with its single gas station transformed into a genuine “roadside wonder.” Though maybe its heyday is a bit behind us, there’s no doubt that Diggs County has embraced its self-assigned nickname as tourists (that’s us) swarm the town, eagerly consuming the pop art amalgamation of our modern fascination with a world no human ever truly saw.
But subtly, unseen by us transient visitors, a deeper story exists… One of history as layered over decades as you’d see in Harambe or Anandapur – of the County’s residents who eagerly opted into their home’s happenstance catapulting into pop culture, turning their gas station into Chester & Hester’s Dinosaur Treasures gift shop (and later, a full “Dino-Rama” county fair overtaking their blacktop parking lot…)
Their story, however, exists alongside that of the young paleontology students who flocked to the town back in the ’40s, hastily transforming an old Floridian fishing lodge into their makeshift dorm-slash-cafeteria. That was countless classes of interns ago, of course, and today, the current class of grad students assigned to the town has embraced the public’s field trip to their field work by opening their dining hall to the public (“Restaurantosaurus”) and opening their exhausted dig site into a veritable playground for the next generation of dino-enthusiasts (“The Boneyard”).
The Dino Institute
But make no mistake – the influx of paleontological minds did coalesce into something grand. Where once the so-called “Dino Institute” was little more than a puffed-up student collective, by the 1970s they’d raised enough capital to construct a permanent and prestigious museum facility right in town. The Dino Institute we know was indeed dedicated to the “Exploration, Excavation, and Exultation” of the prehistoric world and the evidence of it that exists beneath and around us.
The Dino Institute, we can imagine, added some serious pedagogical chops to America’s “Dinoland” – a brainy research facility of real specimen, real knowledge, and real experts, albeit found only by wading through the tourist traps of the townsfolk and the spirited discord wrought by an ever-present cast of grad students.
But it was really the appointment of Dr. Helen Marsh as the Dino Institute’s new director that officially changed the study of the past forever. Within days of her arrival, the Dino Institute had officially filed to begin construction on a new, sleek, high-tech facility in Diggs County… and coincidentally, right as the nonprofit acquired a mysterious tech start-up called ChronoTeck Inc… Hmm…
Of course, that was years ago, and now, Dr. Marsh’s Dino Institute is finally ready to pull back the curtain on what, exactly, the organization has been quietly working on… Ready to find out for yourself? Our tour of the Dino Institute begins in the courtyard in front of the museum where a sculpture of a styracosaur is frozen in the middle of an infinity pool. It’s a stately entrance to the institution, but it’s got nothing on what awaits within.
In fact, the queue for Countdown to Extinction would, anywhere else, stand-in for a full-fledged dinosaur gallery, offering mosaics, murals, and dioramas depicting life during the Cretaceous period, before the extinction-enducing asteroid that collided with Earth and killed over half of all species for good. But the Institute’s greatest treasure awaits within a great domed concourse.
Real paleontologists working here in Diggs County have uncovered the most complete skeleton ever discovered of a prehistoric predator called Carnotaurus. This nimble, pug-faced meat-eater with the horns of a bull must have lived here in Diggs County 66 million years ago when the world looked quite a bit different. It’s even possible that this individual survived up until the moment of the Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event – “the big one” that ended the existence of 75% of species on Earth at the time.
In fact, the eight murals around this octagonal hall depict exactly that event, its progression narrated by shifting lights and the disembodied voice of the one and only Bill Nye “The Science Guy” (in his second Disney Parks dinosaur ride of the ’90s, after his prominent role in EPCOT’s Lost Legend: Ellen’s Energy Adventure).
Gazing up at this gargantuan creature, it’s hard not to be awed; to think that an incomprehensible amount of time ago, our planet was overrun with reptiles the size of cars, and that in one unimaginable cataclysm, they were gone… How spectacular it is to know that it stood here where we stand…! How unreal that its life came to an end just beneath our feet in a prehistoric world…! How unbelievable to imagine what it must’ve been to see it in person…! Of course, we might get that chance…
This is the old wing of the museum, and the true marvel of the Dino Institute lies further on. As we exit the old, static galleries, we’re invited into a briefing room for a communique with Doctor Marsh herself, played by Phylicia Rashad (well-known for her portrayal of Clair Huxtable on The Cosby Show).
Doctor Marsh begins. “I hope you enjoyed those quaint exhibits in the old wing. That’s how dinosaurs have been presented to the public since the study of fossils began over 150 years ago. Today, that bare bones approach is about to be extinct.
“In a perfect blending of science and technology, the Dino Institute has created…” she gestures to the model behind her. “…The Time Rover – an amazing vehicle that will literally transport you to the age of the dinosaurs! How? That’s proprietary… But in a moment, you’ll be going live to our control center for a comprehensive safety briefing, then it’s on the tour that will convince you forever that the future is truly in the past!”
As the Dino Institute’s theme crescendos, the feed is interrupted for our safety briefing by way of Dr. Seeker (that’s Dr. Grant Seeker for all you academics and nonprofit workers) who’s going to see Dr. Marsh’s tranquil pre-historic sightseeing trip and up the ante a bit. After all, like any good paleontologist, Seeker longs to do more than just study the fossilized remains of the past, and he has a plan to use the Time Rover to make history.
“If I can bring you back from the Cretaceous period, it stands to reason that I can bring a live dinosaur back with you!” And wouldn’t you know it? Seeker already has his sights set on a particular individual – a 5 ton herbivore called an Iguanodon, already tagged with a homing beacon during another illicit joyride to the past and currently tracked to the very end of the Cretaceous period.
Lucky for us, Dr. Marsh overhears Seeker’s briefing and re-enters. Chastising her colleague for his “misstatement,” Marsh channels her best Clair Huxtable by reminding him, “That’s impossibly close to the giant asteroid impact that destroyed most. Life. Forms. On. Earth,” and reminding us, “Our tours are designed to take you to the early Cretaceous period, and I can assure you that all Time Rovers are securely locked on those coordinates.”
As Dr. Marsh exits, it takes just a few seconds of typing for Seeker to unlock our Time Rover’s coordinates. “Here’s the drill: you follow the homing signal to the Iguanodon, then I’ll enlarge the transport field and boom, you’re back with one additional passenger, extra large. And don’t worry about that asteroid – you’ll be in and out of there before it even breaks the atmosphere. Trust me! What could go wrong?!”
Once the briefing room doors open, we’re ushered into a new part of the building… an underground laboratory quite a bit more sophisticated than the old wing, filled with pulsing wires and colorful pipes. (You already know it, so don’t make me say it.) Metallic stairs lead down into a concrete concourse of steel, underlit grates pulsing with purple glow.
Every minute or so, a massive power surge signals a great redirect of electricity pulled from the practically-primordial power grid of Diggs County and funneled toward our destination: the Time Tunnel. There’s just one way to get there ourselves…
Countdown to Extinction
Our destination can only be reached by way of the the CTX Time Rover: a lumbering 12-passenger off-roading vehicle designed to tackle the rough terrain of the Cretaceous. (Okay, okay, so the Time Rover looks a whole lot like the World War I “troop transports” currently exploring the Temple of the Forbidden Eye over in Anaheim… but hey, warning stripes, external lights, and a very different context are enough to paint a very different picture for us – of something ready to tackle the Cretaceous.
And as the Time Rover hums to life at the loading dock, it seems to shuffle and vibrate with power. This, after all, is meant to be a moment – the sense that we’ve strapped into something that’s more than it seems, and that we’re about to undertake a mission that’s equal parts mysterious, unpredictable, and yep, even scary. At last, the Time Rover lurches forward, its rubber tires squelching under the weight.
Dispatched from the Loading Bay, the vehicle follows the curving ducts overhead around the corner and into a Security Station. As luck would have it, it’s unmanned. From overhead, a wide, green laser beam sweeps across the vehicle, ostensibly taking a last account of our Time Rover’s status. “Hey guys, it’s me – Dr. Seeker!” the onboard comms system fizzles. “We’ve got a date with a dino…!” A claxon alarm begins to blare and a spinning red light signals that our destination is unapproved. But it’s too late. “Let’s move it!”
Ahead, a set of padded, silver, trapezoidal door swings open. At last, we can see the coalescing place of all the tubes and ducts and wires strung throughout the lab – the Time Tunnel. The road angles upward and through the Time Tunnel’s interior, where coiled panels begin to glow and undulate with red light.
Suddenly, the Time Rover seems to shed its own weight, lifting as if its wheels are just barely disconnecting with the ground. As a soft layer of fog overtakes the Time Tunnel’s floor, the rover is floating, swaying side to side. As the power builds and the tunnel walls spark, a green laser appears ahead, then expands into a portal. Through the green mist, we can see a dense jungle ahead…
With a resounding SNAP, a blinding flash of pure white light overtakes the vehicle, and with a crash, it falls to the ground. Only now, it’s on the rocky terrain of 65 million years ago. “Perfect landing! Wow, the computer is tracking a lot of dinosaurs around you!” A tiny, falling, flaming asteroid fragment strikes the ground, creating a fiery glow that illuminates a frilled, four-legged dinosaur ahead. ‘Styracosaurus,’ the computer chirps. ‘Warning: meteor shower in range.’
“Just little ones, don’t worry!” The Time Rover rumbles onward up an incline.
Chirp chirp. ‘Alioramus.’ Ahead, a dinosaur has its head down, rustling in a bush. When it raises its head, it’s to swallow a smaller dinosaur, whose legs and tail flutter helplessly as it’s swallowed whole. Lest we forget, the natural world is an unforgiving one.
Chirp chirp. ‘Hadrosaur.’ A mother parasaur and her babies look to the sky as flaming shards rain down through the dense jungle canopy. ‘Raptor.’ It’s ahead on the left, snarling and hissing, his eyes fixated on the nearby baby parasaurs. A trail of light signals that a meteor has struck the Rover, which jolts and tips, regaining traction and swerving forward.
“What was that!?”
Chirp chirp. ‘Meteor hit. Signal malfunction.’ The Rover starts and stops, throwing riders forward and back as it recalibrates before shuffling ahead into the darkness. Autopilot misfires as the Rover overshoots the path and tears through the jungle for a few feet before slamming to a halt. “I’ve got you back!”
Chirp chirp. ‘Carnotaurus.’
In the pitch black darkness, another falling shard hits the ground, illuminating the creature looming over us – a massive, fifteen-foot tall carnivore, its twisted horns and wild eyes glowing as a steaming vent nearby illuminates its lumpy orange skin. It roars and jolts forward as lightning strikes in the distant skies around us. The creature lurches forward, appearing to ram the Rover, which slams sideways. “Hold on!” Seeker cries, “I’m getting you out of there!”
The vehicle rights itself and races off around the corner through the darkness, until it lurches over an unexpected obstacle: the tail of a saltasaurus. Chirp chirp. ‘Sauropod.‘ The Rover glides forward to the face of the 40-foot-long dinosaur (curiously, emerging from a starfield so as not to have to represent its whole body?). “Don’t worry, she’s a vegetarian,” Seeker offers as the saltasaurus groans its breath on us. (This moment, by the way, is the track-layout equivalent of Indy’s suspension bridge.)
‘Asteroid impact in… 90 seconds.’
“Computer, you worry too much!”
As asteroids begin to break and supercharge the atmosphere, the phosphorescent glow illuminates a nest of baby pterodactyls in a clearing ahead. The Time Rover lurches around the nest and squeals forward until the mother cearadactylus returns, swooping down at the vehicle by way of a figure attached to a swinging arm. To avoid her, the Rover defaults to the right, where it staggers and twists sideways, sliding down a hillside.
‘Asteroid impact in 60 seconds.‘
The sliding Rover disturbs a nest of tiny, chicken-sized dinosaurs – chirp. ‘Compsognathus’ – which leap over the vehicle. (It’s a clever effect, with each dinosaur on an articulating arm that swings over the vehicle, visible only as it passes under a focused glowing light, creating the effective illusion of motion.) The Rover gains traction and lurches ahead, but slams down into a mud pit. It’s just the opportunity the carnotaurus needed.
Ahead, it’s waiting for us, its skin almost bioluminescent in the charged atmosphere. It eyes us. “Four wheel drive! Go!” The Rover accelerates forward and, with a snarl, the carnotaurus takes off in a full on sprint, launching ahead to intercept our path. It’s one of the most staggering moments in a Disney dark ride, as it swings its head wildly while literally running after us. Though the light fades, we hear the carnotaurus growing closer and closer, its snarling breath and pounding footsteps behind us.
Meteors begin to crash to the Earth, with the Rover sliding left and right to avoid them and the charging beast. We can hear as the encroaching predator slams into trees trying to catch us.
Chirp. ‘Power level critical.’ The burst of energy and four-wheel drive has drained the Time Rover, which rumbles, stalls, and settles in the darkness. Out of the blackness, the carnotaur returns. This is it. The massive beast rears back and releases a blood-curdling, horrific, shrieking scream. (This moment – when the attraction’s on-ride photo is taken – is legitimately startling enough to capture true terror, as the beast’s deafening roar is truly alarming.)
As a trembling earthquake begins to rumble the Rover, the distracted carnotaur looks momentarily frightened himself. The Rover springs back to life and jumps forward, leaving the dinosaur in the dust (and presumably, where he’ll be buried and, later, preserved in the Dino Institute’s lobby). Flaming rocks are now striking all around us, shattering trees and illuminating the sky above the canopy in streaks. As the trees crack and fall just over the ride’s path, a massive trunk ahead blocks the only way forward.
But wait… a dinosaur ahead seems to be lifting up the tree to allow the Time Rover to pass beneath. There’s no time left. ‘Chirp chirp. Iguanodon.‘
“That’s our dino! We’ve got him!” Seeker calls excitedly, as if we’re not seconds from death. The Rover’s computer launches a laser net that’s projected onto the herbivore, apparently bringing him into the Rover’s transport field. Chirp chirp. ‘Asteroid impact in 3… 2…’
“Now you can worry!” Seeker cries. A massive, flaming orange light streams through the treetops overhead, and as the computer’s alarm beeps, the hurtling meteor flashes before our eyes, spinning wildly as it breaks through the treetops heading right toward us. But the Rover races forward and dips down a drop through the darkness. An endless starfield appears around the vehicle as it jumps through a shimmering green laser curtain. Strobes fire randomly, and with a metallic, resounding BOOM, the warm coiled lights of the Time Tunnel return, the vehicle slamming back onto solid ground.
“Good work, team! You made it back! And so did our dino.” The Time Rover glides around the corner and back into the familiar industrial hallways of the Dino Institute’s new wing. Ahead, the Rover aligns with a large mirror (originally installed for a never-implemented Pepper’s Ghost illusion that would’ve shown the iguanodon behind the Rover), as a small CCTV screen reveals the dinosaur wreaking playful havoc on the Institute.
‘Time travel complete.’
Time travel commencing…
Countdown to Extinction opened at Disney’s Animal Kingdom with the park on April 22, 1998. Two years later, it closed forever… Well, kinda. On the next page, we’ll dissect what’s happened to Animal Kingdom’s chaotic dark ride…
Re Quest of the unicorn — that sounds an awful lot like a (now-defunct) attraction called ‘Adventure’ at COSI in Columbus, Ohio. Which sounds a bit crazy, except that – if I recall correctly – Adventure was designed by a firm that was created by Imagineers who were let go after AK’s opening. (Our zoo also benefitted from this experience; there are sections built in the early 2000s that are Disney-quality, reportedly due to being designed by ex-Imagineers who had worked on AK.)
Adventure began with a pre-show explaining the premise (which, incidentally, felt very much like Indiana Jones’ in Disneyland – almost uncannily so, now that I think back on it). Upon exiting the pre-show, visitors entered an enormous set with plenty of opportunities to explore. The exhibit was essentially divided into four areas (a maze, a cavern, a gravel pit, etc.), with a “locked” central ‘observatory’. The objective was to obtain a four-piece “code”, which in turn would unlock the observatory. In each area, visitors located several ‘animal symbols’ (indicated by small bronze statues), as well as a larger “stone” statue. When visitors typed the three animals into the keypad, the (audio-animatronic) statue would “come to life”, since a little song, and display a “piece of the code”. After gathering all four pieces, visitors then went to the observatory, put the code in, and were granted entry. (This then led to a ‘second level’, far more complex than the first — almost like a predecessor to modern-day escape rooms.)
Unfortunately, it closed a few years ago, but it was one of my favorite activities in the city and immediately sprung to mind upon reading your description of Quest of the Unicorn.
Happy to provide any add’l information as I’m able — it’s been a few years since my last visit (when the space closed), but I spent enough time in there that I should have decent recollection!
Carrie! You are talking about one of my favorite things that’s ever existed – and the subject of an upcoming deep dive here. Adventure was genuinely the attraction that made me who I am. I was lucky to experience it as a kid, and then to work at COSI for about a decade after college. I’m so glad you brought up this relationship, because Quest for the Unicorn always felt like a high-capacity “twist” on Adventure, perfectly appropriate for Animal Kingdom. But wow, please stay tuned because I am worried no one’s gonna “get” my Adventure piece, so I’m glad to know that you will. Haha. Thank you!
It was always one of my fave ride at animal Kingdom
Brilliant article. I would classify this ride as a classic. Mainly because of its original concept. There might have been a plan for a future IP tie in, but this ride is original nightmare fuel. I’d say celebrate the Genious of the rides first iteration as a lost legend.