One of the rides was a roller coaster, the old-fashioned painted-white-wooden kind, and it featured an enormous mountain structure. As a child I couldn't imagine having the courage to go on such a thing, but I was fascinated by it. Because of the mountain structure and the up and down hills, the ride was called The Alps. Eventually fascination won out over cowardice, and I rode The Alps. Several times.
It has to be called The Alps.
If you're still with me, here's something sort of related: There's a wonderful semi-autobiographical novel by James Michener called The Fires of Spring. It is totally different from his other tomes. I read it for the first time when I was newly married and had moved Far From Philadelphia. I loved it and was thrilled to identify landmarks near Philadelphia in its pages, especially the amusement park which had to be the same one that housed The Alps. I've reread the book several times and have suggested it to friends. And now I commend it to you.