Okay, anyone who has known me in my adult years has probably heard me bemoan ad nauseum my increasingly deleterious response to amusement park thrill rides. Speed doesn’t do it for me and rides that plunge up and down are just not my thing. I do not find that feeling of suspension in my guts to be something I could even wildly mistake as “pleasant.” So when our friend, Leda (hey, Leda!), proposed a day at Kings Island, I was a little reticent. However, her employer was making it happen for almost 50 percent off, and she offered to broker the tickets for us. Overall, the event seemed like a good opportunity to hang around with a group of friends whom we’ve known for more than 30 percent of our existences on this wonderful ball of dirt that we call Earth. Jennifer started expressing her excitement at the idea, and I had to concede that the plan’s benefits would probably be worth the investment. I would ultimately be glad we decided to go, but that’s getting ahead of the story. In fact, we weren’t even going to originally compose this sort of narrative for a short day trip, but the day would unfold so flawlessly that I simply wasn’t able to resist sharing it.
Meet the Sheerberries
This would be a trip with six old college friends, now consolidated into three married couples. Our Cast of Characters: Courtney and Dan Sharp, Leda and Robert Greer and The Travelin’ Thornberries.
During the trip, Jennifer and I grooved to a hodgepodge of Metallica tunes on my squeaky new car CD player, while trying to find a way to confabulate all of our names into one mighty farrago of a moniker appropriate for all. Jennifer managed to hammer out the term, “Sheerberries,” which promptly ate all of us like a grammatical version of the Blob. Yeah, yeah, it’s corny as a bowl of chips at a Mexican restaurant, but…well, that’s those Sheerberries for you!
The Sheerberries come together for a fun day at King's Island.Interestingly, when I consulted with Dan about their side of the whole arrival trip, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu at his reply:
[TRANSITION TO DAN’S VOICE]:
“As always, the Greers and Sharps were up too late the night before, so we emerged in a somnolent haze for the trip north to Warren County, Ohio. Leda was worried about our being late to the rendezvous point at KI, but Courtney found herself wrapped in a blissful cocoon of Zen non-attachment, a Jedi serenity that comes of surrendering to the inevitable. During our breakfast of bacon, biscuits, and strawberry jam before setting out on the journey, Courtney even stated that life’s hassles and frictions affect everyone equally. She had little doubt that whatever dukka was acting to slow us down, the Thornberries were probably encountering similar challenges.
After traveling about an hour, Courtney decided to ring Jennifer’s cell phone and ask for her to take a reading of their coordinates. Just then, Courtney’s cell phone rang with Jennifer calling to get our coordinates. Sure enough, we determined that they were about two miles ahead of us! Of course, Leda, the driver, took that as a personal challenge, and within 15 to 20 minutes, we steadfastly passed our steadfast friends on the interstate as we bopped along to the soundtrack from the Animaniacs. Not to worry, though, ultimately the First Noble Truth held out again and we only got to King’s Island a couple of car lengths ahead of them.”Creepy how great minds think alike, huh? ;)
Once we all arrived, we drove off the end of the Earth together, like sextet of Thelma-and-Louises. Actually, maybe it just seemed that way, since we penetrated so deeply into the parking lot before we found a satisfactory place to leave our vehicles.
Together at last! Yes, after we engaged in a perfunctory “meet and greet,” we had to do a quick equipment check. The Greers and Sharps were more thorough than Jennifer and I, as they had equipped themselves with several esoteric items geared to ensure their survival within the park…hats, sunblock, and drugs. Yes, drugs! They were well stocked with Tylenol (which did come to our aid later). And, sadly, Leda cheated (to the generalized disapproval of thrill ride enthusiasts everywhere) by hopping up on the little anti-nausea pill called Dramamine. Her stomach was solid as the earth, while her head was probably a little in the clouds.
After taking a few minutes to slather sunblock goop all over our exposed skins (and the Greers’ vehicle, since I belched it all over their car from our half-empty little tube!), we set forth on what we hoped would be a day of cosmically pleasant adventure!
The King's Island Experience—The Hoards Get Liposuctioned
This trip to that classic amusement park of our youths would be very different from the previous visits we all knew and remembered so fondly.
Thomas (right) and his brother stand before the King's Island Eiffel Tower, circa 1986.
The Man with a MissionRobert brooked no delay. Yes, the tallest member of our party must have supplemented the bacon, biscuits and strawberry jam with his Wheaties, before setting out on the trip. No sooner were we inside the gates when he leaped into the air, slapped the soles of his feet together, emitted a “beep-beep” sound and shot off through the park with a smoke trail behind him. With the hats, sunblock and drugs, no one had allotted space for their Acme gear, so apprehending him wasn’t an option. I remember Dan shouting out to him, “What are you, five!?” We just kept up the best we could, while he led us inexorably toward the love of his life (besides Leda, that is!), that being The Beast.
The Scrambler Does
As I said, this group has been part of our social circle for many years. Sure, there have been ups, downs and discontinuities wrought by time, space and commitment. But somehow, we keep re-knitting frayed edges and spackling in eroded spots in our relationships with each other, so that the foundations, edifices and shapely buttresses continue to endure the test of time. The group proved that generosity yet again on this trip because they went out of their way to make sure the wet towel — me — was able to have as good a time as anyone else.
For example, on that mad dash for The Beast, everyone (including Robert) was more than willing to take a couple of detours for more sedate rides. One of the earliest ones was my favorite…the Scrambler! Yes, a venerable and kindly spinning ride, the Scrambler only operates in two dimensions. It never rises up and down to create that dreaded plunging sensation in my viscera. Long has it been a staple in my meager amusement park diet.
The King's Island Scrambler, a staple since 1972.We climbed two-by-two aboard the carts and let it blend and whip us into a homogenous pile of glop. Poor Jennifer got compressed completely against her side of the cart by my momentum, every delicate anatomical part pushed completely to the left side of her che-, uh, body. I looked over my shoulder at one point to scream out to Dan and Courtney: “There’s bologna in our slacks!” It was a nod to the Animaniacs (1993), which we’ve all apparently been revisiting on DVD or CD of late. It had nothing to do with the Scrambler or our experience of it, incidentally; I just thought it would be funny to shout and it would be an amusing non sequitur for this part of the story. Admit it, I’m right, aren’t I?
Saturn’s Rings on KI’s Swings
On July 1, 2004, after a journey of seven years, the unmanned space probe, Cassini-Huygens, pulled into orbit around the mighty gas giant Saturn.
Since that time, it has inundated our little blue world with images of the solar system’s sixth planet out from the sun. Some of those images include detailed panoramas of moons such as Phoebe, Enceladus and most notably, Titan, whose surface the probe finally revealed beneath its blanket of oppressive yellow clouds.
Of slightly less media attention (but no less important), Cassini-Huygens, engaged in a detailed study of Saturn’s ring system. Among the many wonders sent back to Earth, the probe discovered that the rings don’t just orbit Saturn in one plane…they actually wobble up and down at the edges, sort of the way your hand did when you stuck it outside the window of a moving car as a child.
We-e-e-ll…after indulging me on the Scrambler, our little group wanted something a bit more experientially spicy. So I agreed to join them on the Zephyr, one of those little swing carousel rides, the kind in which the chairs are suspended on chains from the rotating top of the carousel.
Oh, dear gawd!! Like an idiot, I chose an outside seat, not realizing that I had basically put myself on the outer edge of Saturn’s rings. When that sucker rose into the air and started swinging us outward, my seat didn’t just smoothly ride in a circle. It buckled and spun in those same undulating patterns as the icy particles of that damned gas giant’s dumbass rings!
I looked down at the sky and up at the grass. I looked inward and witnessed the blinding glory of Divine Being. I knew the Gnosis, the Force, the Tao. I tasted gastric juice in the back of my throat. Somewhere along the way, I remember Courtney shouting about the beauty of the sky from way up there.
Liar.
Dan told me that watching the sky was less vertigo-inducing than keeping up with the ground.
Liar.
I found that keeping my gaze fixed intensely on the swing’s black rubber straps seemed to help, even when my neck got entangled by my own legs and then twisted 180 degrees. When the ride stopped and I opened my eyes, my face was resting down against the bucket of the seat, while my ankles were locked around the swing straps above. I climbed down, walked on my hands to the exit and gloried in the feel of the planet spinning solidly beneath me. Jennifer expressed jealously that her more mundane inner seat hadn’t given her that ecstatic experience.
Da Beast (at Last!)
The group would no longer be denied. No more of these pansy flat rides, the Sheerberries yearned for the mighty Beast itself. And so onward we went, sailing easily through the gut-like rails that normally channel hoards of people, like cows to slaughter, into the mouth of one of the most venerable thrill rides in North America. Courtney joined me in sitting this one out, while the rest of those lovably suicidal friends of ours waited for front car seats. The Greers would be in the first train, while Jennifer and Dan would take the ride after. Courtney stood nearby with the camera and snapped pictures of their enthusiastic grins right before they made the long ascension to heaven…um…that is, I mean, to the top of the first major slope on the back of The Beast.
I held their drinks.
As we waited for the return of the two trains I remember accidentally taking a sip from the Greer’s sweet sticky-ass soda, instead of my own tasteless bottle of water. I guess my left hand didn’t know what my right hand was holding. Meanwhile, Courtney mounted the camera for the return trip, successfully gleaning images of every disheveled thrill-seeker in our party. Alas, I can offer no insights into the experience of riding The Beast. I defer to Dan and Leda to supply their own particular perspectives:
[TRANSITION TO DAN’S VOICE]:
“As roller coaster enthusiasts know, there are two
spots from which you get the most thrills, the front seat and the back seat. The front seat gives you the best rush, being the first to stare down into the void of the tunnel about to engulf you while clearing the air of insects for those behind you. The back seat gives you the best spinal realignment short of a chiropractor. Robert and I took the back seat on our spin into the Vortex, but for the Beast it was all front seat action. I slid into the seat next to Jennifer (my partner for all the rides deemed too bone-rattling for our spouses) and got ready for the trip. It was my first time in the front seat, since I never wanted to wait in the extra long line for the front the few times I had ridden it before. After a long climb that left of staring over the tops of the nearby oaks, we plummeted down the legendary drop and straight through the ground, making a hard bank and bursting out the other end of the tunnel. After whipping around a few more turns, we hit the next climb for the second half of the “World’s Longest Roller Coaster” [Insert resonating echo]. When you look ahead at the track spiraling around a couple of times, you don’t normally expect to enter it from the bottom and work your way up, but going as fast as we were, it was child’s play. After a couple more twists and turns (no loops, that feat was endowed to the Beast’s progeny), we lurched to a halt on the approach to the exit, then idled the rest of the way in, giving everyone a chance to regain their composure before facing the waiting crowds.”[TRANSITION TO LEDA’S VOICE]
“The Beast. The most perfect and pure roller coaster ever invented. Sitting in the very front seat allows you to lean forward, face in the wind, no impediments in your way. I am the wind. For the 3 minutes 40 seconds of sheer bliss, I am one with the universe. I am truly alive. I understand my purpose in life. We all have that one thing that allows us a true Zen moment where everything in the world makes sense. Mine is The Beast [Insert resonating echo]. Some people meditate-- I plummet down wooden tracks at 60 mph with utter abandon. Okay, sounds strange, but The Beast “completes me” [to quote the Jerry McGuire film (1996)]. Robert, on the other hand, takes on The Beast as a challenge.As only a military history buff can appreciate, my husband becomes the most daring general on the battlefield. In a rallying cry in the face of danger he yells to his soldiers…um, other passengers…CHARGE!!! We charge through the forest, trumpet through tunnels, and make our last stand on the last hill of the battlefield called The Beast.
I understand now why dogs are always so happy. It is because they can stick their heads out the car window at 50 mph, ears and tongue flapping in the wind. But alas, the Greers only experience this joy one day a year.
So Many Ways to Plunder HairThroughout the rest of the day, the Sheerberries (sans Courtney and myself most of the time), tackled every major roller coaster in the park. What I remember most saliently was the many myriad ways every ride reshaped the thrill-seekers’ hair. Each time, they left with one hairstyle and returned with something New Age, Old School, Pleistocene or geologic. Leda's looked downright "mousy." At one point, Courtney noted that Dan’s new afro reminded her of Ice-Man from the movie Top Gun (1986).
Scooby, Scooby Doo, I Shot You…
Partly to keep Courtney and I involved (and partly because it is secretly Robert’s favorite), we jumped aboard the dark ride, Scooby Doo and the Haunted Castle. It was annoying to wait for it, because it had one of the longest lines we’d encountered and 50 percent of the other people were loud children. Sampled phrases and music from the timeless Scooby Doo cartoon (1969) were also running constantly in the background, at ridiculously high decibels. Once we got aboard, it took Jennifer and me several minutes to figure out the principle. Apparently, we were supposed to use the little light zappers in the carts to shoot at sensors throughout the “Haunted Castle.” A successful hit resulted in a score on the dashboard, as well as some corny special effect, like a light coming on, a character rising up or a door closing.
Here, you can take a sample tour someone posted on Youtube:
Eventually, I started shooting at anything that moved, didn’t move or was supposed to move in theory. At one point, I shot Jennifer. Her jaw dropped open and Scrappy fell out. Apparently, I did something right, because when we all compared scores afterward, I had annihilated everyone else in the party…1,500 points, to their measly 300-800 (but who’s counting?) Methinks the secret was the Scooby Snacks. You gotta shoot the Scooby Snacks! Eh. I know it was beginner’s luck, but it was nice to shine!
The Tried-and-True Viking Ship
Ah, the Kings Island Viking Ship. It’s almost as well known and memorable as the Eiffel Tower. Except the Tower doesn’t swing your spleen out. The Sheerberries wanted to jump aboard the ‘Ship, so we arrived at a compromise. Jennifer and I had, by this time, given in to my fervent desire for a delicious iced coffee from the newly installed Starbucks close to the park’s entrance. She and I were not done quaffing them, so we invited the Greers and the Sharps to go ahead and take a blending on the ship while we polished off our delicious caffeinated seductions. By the time they got back, we were most of the way finished, but I just couldn’t bring myself to down that endorphin-inducing mistress so quickly. Even still, I consumed a four-shot espresso drink that normally takes me 90 minutes, in about a third of that time. ZOING!! I felt ready for anything when we finally joined our friends for their second bout aboard the Viking Ship. Here, take a look at someone from Youtube's video of the damn thing in motion.
Anything except the Viking Ship, of course. No, it still swung my spleen out. I heard that beloved spleen hit the water down below, with a slimy splash and a splatter of black bile. This surprised Dan, who would say later that he didn’t know it was possible to get so much loft on a spleen from mid-ship. He doesn’t know the craven spleen of a motivated Thornberry! Here, take a look at the hell for yourself in this clip I stole from Youtube:
Fortunately, I discovered that if I timed my inhalations with the rise of the ship and my exhalations with the plummet, I could better ride out the upheavals bludgeoning my internal slimy parts. Lamaze, eat your heart out.
Of course, what I gained in keeping the rest of my organs in place, I lost in stoicism. According to Dan, I did a poor job concealing my discomfort:
[TRANSITION TO DAN’S VOICE]:
“The Sharps and the Greers piled in as close to the end of the ship as they could, while the Thornberries slid in at the center. While Jennifer at least made it try to look fun by throwing her hands in the air and not sitting in the *exact* center row but one row back from it, we could tell Thomas was not enjoying the ride. From several rows behind, we could not see the look on his face, but his hands firmly gripped the handle in front of him and did not come off until his feet were firmly planted on non-swinging ground.”
Score one for the perceptiveness of Dan the Man!
Pushing the Boundaries of Gastric Integrity
In between the flurry of roller coasters, the Sheerberries submitted themselves to being tested against the physics of other types of rides as well.
One such nightmarish ride was a large torture device known as Delirium. Like the Viking Ship, this ride is based on the idea of a pendulum, in this case, one about 40 feet long. The victims sit in a large circle, facing outward, on a gondola about 25 feet in diameter. The gondola is mounted at the base of the pendulum. When the pendulum swings, the gondola begins to rotate. The pendulum arm reaches an arc of 170° and riders experience speeds of up to 50 mph during the ride.
So do spectators.
Yes, Courtney, Jennifer and I sat out this one the first time and watched. You can see what it looked like here:
Nauseating, huh?
Eventually, we spotted a few of our friends, their lips peeled back behind their foreheads and tucked under their chins by the high g-forces. Just watching that pendulum climb, climb, then hold in suspension and drop precipitously caused my stomach to clench vicariously. Perhaps it was my only-too-recent experience on the Viking Ship, but I realized there wasn’t enough whiskey in Warren County to get me on that big bastard. Eventually, our team of adventurous people staggered back to us, gleeful and exuberant over their experience. They were perfectly willing to go at it again, and their wheedling eventually persuaded Jennifer and Courtney to join them.
I wished them good luck with that.
They left their things with me and even though I was sitting in the direct sunlight, I took the opportunity to meditate a few minutes, let my mind drift so my nervous system could enter a light alpha state of restoration. Despite the caffeine, I was still feeling a little tired and welcomed the chance to recharge. I spotted a few of the others on the gondola at one point and waved. Unbeknownst to me, some of the group was on the other side, so when they came around and tried to wave at me, I had my eyes closed and didn’t respond. Oops! I hoped they didn’t take it as my being petulant or resentful. I actually enjoyed the chance to be.
We moved on to another ride, this one even more torturous than Delirium. Called the Drop Zone, it was a ride based on the premise that falling is fun. The victims are strapped into a gyro seating arrangement very similar to the pendulum rides, taken 315 feet into the air, and dropped to their deaths. Of course, there are mighty hydraulics and braking mechanisms to keep the gyro separated from the ground and blood safely inside of bodies, but that’s the primordial fear that is tapped for thrills with this type of ride.
The Sheerberries jumped aboard and rose high into the sky. I remember noticing from the ground all the teeny little bare feet highlighted against the clouds. Apparently, many of the women and young girls would leave their flip-flops or other loose-fitting shoes down below, so they didn’t lose them. Once the gyro reached the highest point, it sat there. Then it sat there some more. Finally, it plunged downward, pushing much phlegm back up throats and many a bra cup into tender undersides. If you wanna see how it looked:
When the party slithered out and rejoined me, they talked of how the suspenseful wait up top was almost as thrilling as the actual plunge, since the gyro sits there for so long before it drops. Dan mentioned that from up there, they had a view of the entire park, even to the point of spotting where our cars waited for us.
Feeling Like the Dead After Tomb Raider
By now, only the Greers were pushing forward unimpeded. Remember when I said those short lines were a blessing and a curse? The curse was that it allowed our party to abuse themselves into pudding piles by seeking out thrill rides over and over again. Dan and Jennifer were beginning to feel the worst for wear from all of the pummeling they were enduring. Poor Dan was having headaches, while both he and Jennifer were having gut sloshes. At one point, I remember noting how doughy-faced that Dan had become when he joined the rest of us in sitting down to rest for a few minutes. He can do a better job explaining his gut-load of queasy than I can:
[TRANSITION TO DAN’S VOICE]:
Karma and the Cumulative Effects of Topsy-Turvey-Ism:
A Brief Tangential Essay by Dan Sharp
A Brief Tangential Essay by Dan Sharp
“I love roller coasters. I have never been afraid to try one out and have never suffered any ‘ill’ effects from them. But then I made the mistake of saying as much. It wasn’t a boast, just a comment in response to a conversation on the subject. Still, as soon as I said it, I knew I was in trouble. Things went fine for the first several rides. After the Vortex, we took a break for a bit of lunch. Due to not being very hungry and holding the unfounded belief that ‘if there is nothing in my stomach, there is nothing to throw up’, I only had half a hamburger and some of Thomas’ French fries. Apparently I should have had more. The double-dose of Delirium didn’t do me in, but it certainly started the snowball that rolled through the next few rides. I exited each of the next few rides a step closer to refuting my Empty Stomach hypothesis. I eventually took some Tylenol to curb the headaches that were taking longer to fade of their own accord, and my stomach seemed to have settled, so I went ahead and rode Face Off, not wanting to miss any of the excitement. The ride itself was fine and didn’t bother my stomach at all (fortunately for Leda, who was sitting directly across from, and at times directly below, me). As we walked back up the exit, though, I was hit in succession by all the physical effects that usually precede me revisiting what I had for lunch. This was the “doughy-faced Dan” Thomas observed and that was the point where I finally determined I couldn’t do anymore in my current condition. Apparently my lack of food did not help me avoid being sick and in fact contributed to it. The break for dinner was exactly what I needed and I made it through the rest of the day with no problems.”
And so, as Dan said, we decided to take a hiatus and have a decent meal for everyone’s benefit (where I had another of my thrills…beer!) Then everyone returned for more punishment.
One of the final unique choices was Tomb Raider, a highly themed dark ride. From what Jennifer told me, it was more hassle and headache (literally!) than fun. Even Leda would later say that she and Robert felt it was an experience to hate for oneself, since the ride sounds good on paper. I defer to Jennifer’s blow-by-blow account:
[TRANSITION TO JENNIFER’S VOICE]:
“Robert and Leda had been on this ride before, but Dan and I had not. First, we had to stand with the gathering crowd behind a gate for several minutes while waiting for the ride before to clear the viewing area for the introductory movie. This was no big deal, typical on thrill rides, then the gate started to swing open. Leda was the first in line, and she naturally assumed that the open gate meant we could go through. Who wouldn’t? Well, the employees obviously didn’t expect a crowd of waiting people to go through an open gate. The young woman running the ride saw us approaching and asked what we were doing, to which Leda innocently responded, “Well … the gate opened,” with the rest of us nodding in agreement. She told us to get back for a minute, then started grumpily counting us and separating us into smaller groups. Meanwhile, we tried to view the introductory movie, which is designed to get you in the mood for the ride. It may have worked had the employee not moved us around three times. Every time I tried to focus on the movie, she told us to move again. After all the shuffling and re-shuffling, the guy leading us onto the ride said to just line up in the middle row. By the time the doors opened to let us onto the ride itself, I was rather confused and quickly getting out of the mood. But I had agreed, so I plodded on. We boarded this large platform with three rows of seats all facing the same direction. Everyone fit into the middle row – except Dan and me, who were told to sit up front. We exchanged a frown, shrugged our shoulders and strapped ourselves in. With most rides, you can look around and get some idea of what it’s going to do before it starts. That was not the case here. I looked around in the dim light and still couldn’t figure it out, which only added to my confusion. I was still hoping the ride would prove me wrong, but it never did. It started rough and stayed rough. It heaved us up, then down, then around, jerking and yanking us in all different directions. We felt like human taffy as the ride turned us face down to hang suspended, looking at a floor of lava, while we waited for clear fluids to leak out of our eyes and noses. I have been tossed around many times on rides before, but pain in my nose was a new, and rather unwelcome, sensation. In short, I was not impressed. The ride was all the pain and none of the fun. Overall, it wasn’t one of the more popular rides among our intrepid adventurers. I retained some of the physical traumas from it for a day or two after we left the park”.
Revenge of the Sick
The group never lost its intention to be sure everyone was having a good time. Even amidst all of the thrill rides, they tried to work in milder venues for Courtney and me, who had the more delicate constitutions. I, of course, had been steadily enjoying my own brand of lower-grade thrill, that being good coffee, beer, food and the company. But I too had been looking forward to something more my temperament - the carousel horses!
It was Courtney’s idea that she and I would take the first round and let the thrill seekers do the watching for a change. We also agreed to ride on one of the outer horses, because they do not rise up and down…we didn’t want to claim all of the thrills this time on our own. So for me, Courtney pointed out a horse that looked like a knight’s charger (appropriate, don’t you think?), while she hopped on something more characteristically her.
What a rush! We spun at high speeds, dodging the onslaught of other horses and slowly gaining on the slower members of the herd. It was dangerous, this carousel, and definitely not for the weak of heart. The wind raced by my face, I could smell the rank odor of fear among the other patrons as I whirled by them. My heart pounded from the sheer marvel of my horse’s fleet feet. It felt like flying, like I was on top of the world! Ahead, I saw Courtney’s cheeks all flushed, and I knew that she too was pushing herself to the limits of her mind and body and she too had never felt move ALIVE! Right then, the entire trip paid for itself.
Adventurous spirits, Courtney and Thomas prove their godlike bravery by submitting themselves to the dangers of the carousel horses.But all good things do come to an end. Courtney asked the hobo operating the controls if we could just stay on, and he gruffed out an affirmative through his voluminous gray beard. We switched over to one of the undulating horses and eagerly welcomed Jennifer, Dan and the Greers alongside us. Again, it was an enjoyable experience, but it just wasn’t the same as that first engaging, spiritually enlightening ride that was the carousel. At the end of the ride, Courtney asked everyone, “Is your inner child happy now?” Well…what do you think, Our Darlings?
Homeward Bound
As darkness fell, we reached a point where everyone had done what she or he had come to do. We did a few rides over again, with the thrill seekers doing The Beast by night (something upon which Jennifer insists every Kings Island trip). Several of us re-rode the Scrambler again, while the Sharps “shut down” the Monster with the final two rides of the evening, joined the second time around by the Greers. The Monster, I would later learn, is Courtney’s absolute favorite ride, and it was built to ridden at night. The gleaming black surface reflects the rows of lights running along each of the whirling arms. It is colorful and flashy, and for her, it brings back fond memories of the myriad carnivals growing up, each of which featured the Spider, the Monster’s syndicated cousin. Once the lights were out and we had nothing left to ride, it was time to depart the park and say our farewells to each other. The Sharps would be riding home with us, freeing up the Greers to head straight back to Louisville.
Clunk! The CD Player Crashes
Jennifer and I are technophobes.
Why? Because we have long recognized that most times when we try to upgrade or replace a piece of technology in our household, we end up losing capability. We’re sure it is in part because of our ignorance regarding technology, but part of it has to be the world’s fault. Some examples:
• 1994: My first VCR. Excellent “freeze” on the pause, easy to set with a detailed remote. It recorded excellently. The replacement VCRs we purchased in 2005 were cheap with ham-handed remotes, and they only sporadically record as they are intended.
• 1995: My first CD player. It only played one disk, but it lasted for eight good years and had a wonderfully detailed remote control. By contrast, our follow-up machine lasted barely three years, with a sucky-ass remote that made it a chore to find a favorite track. We eventually purchased a 60-CD changer, which also only lasted three years, and now the only ones available are 5-CD changers. Another step backwards.
• 1997: My first answering machine. Still functional to this day, with easy-to-use remote access. I could call and append messages from any location, as well as listen/address the room and leave myself memos. We only stopped using it because the highly durable phone we needed for it broke down after five to six years. Our new answering machine’s remote functions have never worked right and it is inconvenient to use even when on location…at three times the price.
• 2003: I acquired a terrific piece of CD burning software on my computer, one that would let me customize my tracks. When I upgraded my computer, the software wouldn’t run any more and the replacement software didn’t have half the capability and convenience of the old one. Incidentally, when I upgraded the graphics card on that computer, I also lost the capability to play one of my favorite video games; it just stopped rendering appropriately and I eventually gave up on it.
My cell phone was purchased in 2001. I dread when it breaks down, because I’ll probably end up with a horn-phone like the Flintstones! *Snort*
Anyway, the technology in this case was another CD player, one for my car. After enduring several years of rain, cold and scorching summer heat, my previous trusty little portable player was starting to increasingly malfunction. We desperately wanted good music for the long drive to and from Ohio, so the night before the Kings Island excursion, Jennifer and I went out of our way to go to a department store we don’t usually frequent (Wal*cough*, uh, *cough*Mart*cough*). There, we went through tremendous hassle to get a squeaky new one. It played beautifully the night of purchase and throughout the next day. Once we had the Sharps in the car that evening and were ready to leave the park, however, the player whirled, rattled and died. No warning. It didn’t even last 24 hours.
I was quite annoyed by this fritz, since we had wanted to demonstrate our newest iTunes compendium for the Sharps, and we suffered a department store run specifically so we didn’t end up without music for this trip. Courtney was heckling our luck with technology, saying that if we kept going backwards like this, our next PC upgrade would be a chunk of rock!
Ragnarok
Maybe some things do happen for a reason. The lack of music may have been a blessing, ultimately. After we traveled a little south of Cincinnati, we started seeing distant flickers of lightning in the sky ahead of us. Another 30 minutes and we ran straight into the Norse Ragnarok, the final battle at the end of time in which even the Gods of Asgard meet their deaths.
Yes, the mighty Æsir, Thor, hurled bolt after bolt of deadly lightning down on us, illuminating the dark interstate so it looked like noon. Torrential rain buffeted the car back and forth and it felt like being aboard the Maid of the Mist again while the Horseshoe Falls bitch-slapped us. Precipitation was coming down so hard on my windshield that even the highest setting on my wipers wasn't allowing me to see the road, and the lanes on I-75 were so badly marked that I kept straying out of mine. And to make matters worse, we hit the ritual situation that is virtually par for the course on I-75...road construction. The shoulders of the highway were blocked off with concrete walls and orange barrels. So there I was, driving blind, weaving back and forth, and I couldn't even pull over to wait out the storm! Taking an exit would only have put us in heavier traffic and increased the chances of an accident. Death ruled the highways. And Loki laughed.
The Greers would ultimately note the stormy conditions, but on their western route, they would escape it with nary a worry:
[TRANSITION TO LEDA’S VOICE]:
“We saw Ragnarok in the distance--lightning galore. Laughed at the fates and survived with nary a scratch and just a small spattering of rain. Had we known our illustrious friends were in the eye of the hurricane, we would have turned our silver steed (i.e. our Silver Honda Civic) and mounted a rescue!”
I just slowed wa-a-a-y down, let the idiots blast past me at ridiculous speeds and held the car the best I could. Speed is the breeding ground for hydroplaning. To my delight, a diesel truck that almost washed us off the edge got pulled over by the police a few miles down the road. Sometimes, even if it is serendipity, there is justice in this world! We lived and got the Sharps home with continued heartbeats. They were a bit shaky, but that could have been as much to do with the excitement of the day catching up as our trundle down the highway to hell.
Safely home, we all realized it had been a truly perfect day to be out with friends, our faces smashed into a universe of aesthetics, thrills and social engagement (and coffee!). Perhaps we’ll have a chance to try it again next year!
Ye Ende
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