Parents who have even normal, everyday children will undeniably curse their offspring with the following hex, “I hope when you have kids, they grow up to be just like you!”
My parents never put this juju on me. For that, I thought I was a pretty upstanding child. I rarely got into trouble, and when I say that I mean I rarely took the blame. My one friend bore the brunt of explaining why we emptied out his parents’ garage with the grand idea that we were going to build a tree house with no prior architectural expertise or clearance to use sharp tools. His Dad came home from work to find the yard littered with boards of varying sizes and shapes along with tools. My friend had to clean it all up. Me, I went home for dinner.
But I am here to tell you that regardless of how well you behaved as a little tyke, the curse is passed down whether your parents wish it or not. Take my kid, please. Kidding. But let’s take her, for example.
About two weeks ago she began asking for everything under the sun that she saw on television. My automatic and unwavering response to this was, “We’ll see.” That usually stops the conversation right there. It’s like “We’ll see” is some magical phrase that pacifies the unending need to have whatever it is that she sees on that screen. Again and again she sees something else on TV that she wants and asks, to which I say, “We’ll see.” She goes about her business and I go back to farming on my computer.
And it’s not like it always about a toy. She saw some commercial for some kind of baking tool that makes cupcakes in the shape of lollipops that you can then put on a stick and decorate. Immediately, she bounded across the room and said, “Daddy, Daddy, I want that!”
“We’ll see.”
And it’s not like it’s always about what is on television.
This past week she’s been going on and on about wanting to go to Kennywood. For those of you not familiar with Pittsburgh, it’s our Disney World. It’s like Yinzer World. Since I wrenched my back a week ago, I haven’t able to move very fast, not like I ever did, but riding the Thunderbolt in my condition could have me in traction.
So, when she started asking about going to Kennywood, I said, “We’ll see.” I expected silence after this, but she came back with something. Something that sent a shiver up my spine.
“How about this?” I stopped in my tracks as she said this. “If I’m a good girl, can I go to Kennywood?”
I was floored. My kid just tried to negotiate with me. As soon as those three words came out of her mouth I was transported through my entire life, all the way through high school. I was a negotiator. I never remembered it, though, but it was true. My parents would tell me “Maybe” or “We’ll see” and I immediately shot back with, “How about this…” and then laid out my terms.
In high school, our senior class got to pick the song we would have played during the senior night halftime show for marching band. This was the song that the band would play while we walked up the field with our parents. There was an insane debate over two songs. Half of the seniors, me included, wanted, “You Could Be Mine” by Guns and Roses. The other half wanted, “It’s So Hard To Say Goodbye (To Yesterday)” by Boyz II Men. Remember, this was 1993 and we were still in the heyday of the Alex Vanderpool era. It came down to a tie vote and the only person who had not voted was one of the drummers, who was one of the biggest proponents to disregarding authority. We thought we had it locked up. He surprised all of us by siding with the Boyz II Men voters. Not taking defeat likely, I went to our band director with the news. Then, I said, with sudden utter brilliance, “How about this?”
His eyebrows cocked to one side, “Go on.”
I spun this golden thread of bullshit about how we have to get onto the field before we do the senior night formation. Why not use that opportunity to show some flare and excitement. Then we bring it down for the actual calling out of names. He stroked his chin and nodded his head. “Fine.”
I had turned a loss into a tie and satisfied everyone’s wishes. We played both.
Snapping back to reality, I noticed my four year old standing there, wondering where I had gone. “I tell you what? You be a good girl and we’ll definitely put it on the list of things to do.”
Sensing that she had indeed met her equal, she said, “OK. If I’m a good girl, we’ll go soon.” And with that, she went on to bigger and better things involving her dinosaurs, a chair and the cat tree. I had dodged a huge bullet. I could tell that she knew I was against the ropes due to her sneak attack. I should think about sending her to Washington DC to settle the debt crisis. They wouldn’t stand a chance and we’d all be able to sleep at night thinking about our 401ks.
Till then, I am so screwed and it won’t be the government that has drained my savings. It will be my little negotiator with her insatiable need for all things As Seen on TV.
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Showing posts with label kennywood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kennywood. Show all posts
Monday, August 15, 2011
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Queasy Rider Part Two
I recently spoke about how I have lost my edge as a roller coaster and amusement park enthusiast. I don’t know if it’s an inner ear thing or just plain age. It could be that becoming a father took away that desire to put my life and my lunch on the line in an effort to get the adrenaline flowing. I don’t know even know if I still have what it takes to stand in line for a ride that takes you straight up into the stratosphere and then plunges you head first into the ground like Mel Gibson’s career. Maybe I should just relegate myself to riding the train around the park and yell at kids for walking fast past me.
Last weekend, my wife had the spontaneous notion to just up and go to Kennywood. I reeled back in terror, not because she wanted to go to an amusement park but, because she decided to just do it as a spur of the moment thing. We don’t do well with spontaneity. We tried it once on vacation a few years ago when we decided to take the last day of our trip to Myrtle Beach and drive up to the Outer Banks to see the lighthouses. We didn’t realize we would end up in a Post Apocalyptic Pool Hall At the End Of the Outer Banks. It just seems that every time we try to do something on a whim ,we end up causing a rift in the space time continuum. Bad things happen. However, we realized that summer is flying by and our three year old should get to see Kennywood this year. So, I packed up our World Ending Survival Kits and got ready for a little spontaneity. To even out the odds of riding and babysitting, we included my wife’s niece on the trip and headed out.
First off, we picked the hottest day of the century to go to the park. Everywhere little red mercury thermometers were saying, “’Eff this! It’s too damn hot.” The high temperature was listed to be 93 but the heat index probably put it over 103. Now, why can’t they just say it’s 103? I don’t care what the temperature is and then what it feels like. Either tell me what the temperature is or tell me what the temperature feels like, but don’t say both. Pick one and stick with it. It’s the same with wind chill. Just say it’s the worse number in terms of hot or cold. It makes my life easier. I’m standing in my bedroom toggling between fashion choices. “Well, it’s 93 out there so let’s go with boxers. But, it feels like it 103, so maybe I should go with briefs.” Tell you what, that’s how we should report the weather. “Ladies in gentlemen, the temperature is going to be over 100 degrees. Better go with wet suit.”
Secondly, my daughter has no fear. I mean she will run at top speed towards a brick wall expecting the brick wall to move. The first words out of her mouth, upon exiting the Family Truckster and seeing the Phantom’s Revenge plummeting towards the parking lot with screaming and yelling passengers on it, was “I want to ride that roller coaster.” I informed her that she was still too small for it and she rebuffed my comments and said, “But, I’m a big girl.” Kids. We decided to start off small and rode the carousel. She got a kick out of riding the horses and felt that was all the prep work she would need and started picking out all the spin and puke worthy rides to try next. I told her we needed to get some lunch first but she was adamant about living on the edge. Of course, wanting to eat and then ride spin and puke rides was pretty close to living on the edge for me.
With park food, you cannot go wrong if you get Potato Patch fries. I don’t care how hot it is outside, you can find the will to scarf down those awesome fries with cheese. One great addition to the Food and Beverage department was the presence of forks. While it’s nice to get knuckles deep into a basket of cheese fries, it just makes it easier when dealing with a little one. Midway through lunch, my wife had to take her to the Sierra Mist Misting Station to get cooled off a bit. Did I mention it was hot? That was pretty much the theme of the day. “It’s hot!” It was the kind of heat that negated the effects of drinking four or five soft drinks in a row. I would have done better with water but a medium Pepsi or Mountain Dew was $2.39 and a 16 ounce bottle of water, in the vending machine, was $3.00. I was hot but not that hot, yet.
Next up was the Turtles. This was another one of my favorite rides as a kid. It simply goes around in a circle and every so often goes over a hill. Not too thrilling, to say the least, but that whole grumpy man / inner ear thing was making me a little queasy. That and the fact that the seats were made of reflective metal had me wishing I’d worn longer shorts but the effects of the heat on the outside of my legs was nothing compared to the heat that was generated within the confines of my clothing. The relative humidity of my shorts was somewhere around 110%. Any longer on the length of the material in my short legs would have had me looking for that wet suit. Still, the little one got such a kick out of these rides.
After I regained my equilibrium we headed over to the Lost Kennywood section of the park and my wife, niece, and daughter decided to forgo the long line for the Pittsburgh Plunge and just stand in the observation area to catch the splash down from the boats. Me, I opted to stay as dry as possible since I was the human purse. I had to carry everything in my pockets, cell phone, keys, camera and wallet. I was like a cat. I did not want to get wet. Regardless of how hot it was, I maintained my “stay dry if at all possible” policy.
That’s another thing I’ve grown out of in my years. Water rides. I used to love rides like the Raging Rapids and Log Jammer. On a hot day I found comfort in just getting completely drenched on a water ride in order to cool off from the heat. But, in my curmudgeon years, I’ve stayed away from water as if I was a Mogwai. It may not be all about age. The one thing that used to drive me nuts as an Amusement Park employee was when a soaking wet guest would reach into their sock and pull out a folded stack of money. They would peel the dollar bills away from each other, discard the hitchhiking lint, and hand me a few ones to play my game. I wanted to put on a biohazard suit and use tongs to take their money. Things worsened when you got their wet money and you put in the stack of money you had in your apron and then the wetness transferred to the rest of the stack. It just felt dirty. It would be like handing a twenty to a stripper and asking for change. Besides being impolite, it’s a little on the eww side. I don’t think I want the ones you just pulled out of your crotch. It’s nothing against you personally. I support single moms working their way through medical school. Not that I know anything about that.
Apart from my hang ups about getting wet at the amusement park it’s not just about me getting wet. In fact, if it pours down rain, I welcome the relief from the heat. It’s the water in the park that I don’t care for experiencing. It’s that poorly chlorinated water that smells of minerals and sweat that gags me. The water from wet rides consist of whatever base water is in the ride plus all the dirt, grime, sweat and possibly other bodily fluids it collects as it drips off the passengers onto the floor of the ride. It gets stomped around by their shoes and then falls back into the water and then gets recycled back into the ride, ready to splash the next guest. Standing in line for a ride along with tens of others who reek of "wet guest" is not exactly a lot of fun. I am just as to blame as I stand there with the crotch pot set to simmer. I should have chosen briefs for this.
After The Petri Dish Plunge, my wife took her niece to go try out the new ride while I braved the wilds of Kiddieland with my daughter. Now, I fully expected to find myself in the middle of my worst nightmare. I was all set to be amid a sea of rotten children, pushing and shoving their way around the rides. I was prepared to stand in long lines and watch as my little angel turned into a devil as she sometimes [read: often] becomes impatient. What I wasn’t ready for was the exact opposite. She was tickled to ride and was a perfect little doll. The ride operators were courteous and helpful. The other kids were very polite and while there was a little excitement over getting into the gates, they all pretty much took turns. There were no Altamont or Riverfront Stadium reenactments, anywhere. The only time it even got a little scary was the revelation that I would have to ride the S.S. Kenny with my kid. I thought the S.S. Kenny was supposed to be a kiddie version of the Pirate Ship. However, that was a miscalculation. The Pirate Ship only goes back and forth. This was more like the Cosmic Chaos as The S.S. Kenny goes back and forth and then spins around as it sails. I might as well have been on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Once my wife returned to tag me out, I booked it for the front of the park to ride the new coaster, The Skyrocket. The wait was almost an hour long, but I was willing to tough it out along with the other park water soaked guests. EW. I then noticed something a little amiss. Up ahead of me was this little whelp of guy holding an infant. Couldn’t have been more than a few months old. Beyond thinking, “Hey, get that kid under some cover, it’s hot and sunny out here,” I couldn’t help but wonder how this guy was going to pull this off when he got to the deck. There’s no way in all of Zelienople that they are going to let that kid ride and I didn’t see any mother around, either. Once we got up to the deck I saw the master plan. Momma was riding two cars ahead of him and when her car came back in, he was ready to get on after handing the baby over to her. Made more sense to me after witnessing it. Still, they handed off an infant over a gap in the floor which made me cringe a little. Yet, that all went away as I got ready to try out a new coaster. In all, the ride lasted just over a minute and was pretty neat, save the hour wait.
By now, the late afternoon sun was blazing over the park’s horizon and was still very hot. My wife snuck in another splash down cleansing and an hour long wait for the indoor coaster called The Exterminator while I rode The Whip and the Carousel with the munchkin. We stopped for some pizza and then I was back to Kiddieland while my wife rode the Aero 360 with her niece. Until now, we both looked at that ride like it was enough to make us yack. She rode it twice, though, loving it. I was still enjoying being a proud parent and wearing that badge of honor as my little one continued to ride her heart out on the miniature rides. Unfortunately, another spin and puke called the Dizzy Dynamo. It was a bit like a Tilt-A-Whirl but I felt more like it was a Tilt-A-Hurl. She got to ride the mini Turtles and a few more rides before my wife got back.
We decided to ride the carousel and the Paratrooper before getting ice cream. I was all set to spray the crowd on the Paratrooper while my daughter giggled and laughed all throughout the ride. As we stood in line for ice cream the flood gates opened over the park. It had been threatening to rain since before sunset and now we were caught inside the park. We all hopped up on the covered porch surrounding the cafeteria and ate our ice cream before dodging the raindrops back to the van.
That’s when it happened. We had one more ride to go on and it was the car ride home. This little angel, this perfect child, this kid who spent the better part of seven hours riding her but off didn’t make it out of the parking lot before crashing. So, I guess I can still find enjoyment and excitement at the amusement park at my age without having to wear black socks up to my knees or shake my fist at the “damn kids” who whiz past me heading for the roller coaster queues. I just have to spend some time watching my kid enjoy the hell out of riding the rides. I don’t have to worry about my tubes going all wonky or fear that my Potato Patch fries might make a reappearance. I kind of like it that way. I still like that car ride at the end of the day. That’s still my favorite. By the way, I need a shower. I've got some serious "wet guest" funk going on with my person. Should have worn a wet suit.
Last weekend, my wife had the spontaneous notion to just up and go to Kennywood. I reeled back in terror, not because she wanted to go to an amusement park but, because she decided to just do it as a spur of the moment thing. We don’t do well with spontaneity. We tried it once on vacation a few years ago when we decided to take the last day of our trip to Myrtle Beach and drive up to the Outer Banks to see the lighthouses. We didn’t realize we would end up in a Post Apocalyptic Pool Hall At the End Of the Outer Banks. It just seems that every time we try to do something on a whim ,we end up causing a rift in the space time continuum. Bad things happen. However, we realized that summer is flying by and our three year old should get to see Kennywood this year. So, I packed up our World Ending Survival Kits and got ready for a little spontaneity. To even out the odds of riding and babysitting, we included my wife’s niece on the trip and headed out.
First off, we picked the hottest day of the century to go to the park. Everywhere little red mercury thermometers were saying, “’Eff this! It’s too damn hot.” The high temperature was listed to be 93 but the heat index probably put it over 103. Now, why can’t they just say it’s 103? I don’t care what the temperature is and then what it feels like. Either tell me what the temperature is or tell me what the temperature feels like, but don’t say both. Pick one and stick with it. It’s the same with wind chill. Just say it’s the worse number in terms of hot or cold. It makes my life easier. I’m standing in my bedroom toggling between fashion choices. “Well, it’s 93 out there so let’s go with boxers. But, it feels like it 103, so maybe I should go with briefs.” Tell you what, that’s how we should report the weather. “Ladies in gentlemen, the temperature is going to be over 100 degrees. Better go with wet suit.”
Secondly, my daughter has no fear. I mean she will run at top speed towards a brick wall expecting the brick wall to move. The first words out of her mouth, upon exiting the Family Truckster and seeing the Phantom’s Revenge plummeting towards the parking lot with screaming and yelling passengers on it, was “I want to ride that roller coaster.” I informed her that she was still too small for it and she rebuffed my comments and said, “But, I’m a big girl.” Kids. We decided to start off small and rode the carousel. She got a kick out of riding the horses and felt that was all the prep work she would need and started picking out all the spin and puke worthy rides to try next. I told her we needed to get some lunch first but she was adamant about living on the edge. Of course, wanting to eat and then ride spin and puke rides was pretty close to living on the edge for me.
With park food, you cannot go wrong if you get Potato Patch fries. I don’t care how hot it is outside, you can find the will to scarf down those awesome fries with cheese. One great addition to the Food and Beverage department was the presence of forks. While it’s nice to get knuckles deep into a basket of cheese fries, it just makes it easier when dealing with a little one. Midway through lunch, my wife had to take her to the Sierra Mist Misting Station to get cooled off a bit. Did I mention it was hot? That was pretty much the theme of the day. “It’s hot!” It was the kind of heat that negated the effects of drinking four or five soft drinks in a row. I would have done better with water but a medium Pepsi or Mountain Dew was $2.39 and a 16 ounce bottle of water, in the vending machine, was $3.00. I was hot but not that hot, yet.
Next up was the Turtles. This was another one of my favorite rides as a kid. It simply goes around in a circle and every so often goes over a hill. Not too thrilling, to say the least, but that whole grumpy man / inner ear thing was making me a little queasy. That and the fact that the seats were made of reflective metal had me wishing I’d worn longer shorts but the effects of the heat on the outside of my legs was nothing compared to the heat that was generated within the confines of my clothing. The relative humidity of my shorts was somewhere around 110%. Any longer on the length of the material in my short legs would have had me looking for that wet suit. Still, the little one got such a kick out of these rides.
After I regained my equilibrium we headed over to the Lost Kennywood section of the park and my wife, niece, and daughter decided to forgo the long line for the Pittsburgh Plunge and just stand in the observation area to catch the splash down from the boats. Me, I opted to stay as dry as possible since I was the human purse. I had to carry everything in my pockets, cell phone, keys, camera and wallet. I was like a cat. I did not want to get wet. Regardless of how hot it was, I maintained my “stay dry if at all possible” policy.
That’s another thing I’ve grown out of in my years. Water rides. I used to love rides like the Raging Rapids and Log Jammer. On a hot day I found comfort in just getting completely drenched on a water ride in order to cool off from the heat. But, in my curmudgeon years, I’ve stayed away from water as if I was a Mogwai. It may not be all about age. The one thing that used to drive me nuts as an Amusement Park employee was when a soaking wet guest would reach into their sock and pull out a folded stack of money. They would peel the dollar bills away from each other, discard the hitchhiking lint, and hand me a few ones to play my game. I wanted to put on a biohazard suit and use tongs to take their money. Things worsened when you got their wet money and you put in the stack of money you had in your apron and then the wetness transferred to the rest of the stack. It just felt dirty. It would be like handing a twenty to a stripper and asking for change. Besides being impolite, it’s a little on the eww side. I don’t think I want the ones you just pulled out of your crotch. It’s nothing against you personally. I support single moms working their way through medical school. Not that I know anything about that.
Apart from my hang ups about getting wet at the amusement park it’s not just about me getting wet. In fact, if it pours down rain, I welcome the relief from the heat. It’s the water in the park that I don’t care for experiencing. It’s that poorly chlorinated water that smells of minerals and sweat that gags me. The water from wet rides consist of whatever base water is in the ride plus all the dirt, grime, sweat and possibly other bodily fluids it collects as it drips off the passengers onto the floor of the ride. It gets stomped around by their shoes and then falls back into the water and then gets recycled back into the ride, ready to splash the next guest. Standing in line for a ride along with tens of others who reek of "wet guest" is not exactly a lot of fun. I am just as to blame as I stand there with the crotch pot set to simmer. I should have chosen briefs for this.
After The Petri Dish Plunge, my wife took her niece to go try out the new ride while I braved the wilds of Kiddieland with my daughter. Now, I fully expected to find myself in the middle of my worst nightmare. I was all set to be amid a sea of rotten children, pushing and shoving their way around the rides. I was prepared to stand in long lines and watch as my little angel turned into a devil as she sometimes [read: often] becomes impatient. What I wasn’t ready for was the exact opposite. She was tickled to ride and was a perfect little doll. The ride operators were courteous and helpful. The other kids were very polite and while there was a little excitement over getting into the gates, they all pretty much took turns. There were no Altamont or Riverfront Stadium reenactments, anywhere. The only time it even got a little scary was the revelation that I would have to ride the S.S. Kenny with my kid. I thought the S.S. Kenny was supposed to be a kiddie version of the Pirate Ship. However, that was a miscalculation. The Pirate Ship only goes back and forth. This was more like the Cosmic Chaos as The S.S. Kenny goes back and forth and then spins around as it sails. I might as well have been on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Once my wife returned to tag me out, I booked it for the front of the park to ride the new coaster, The Skyrocket. The wait was almost an hour long, but I was willing to tough it out along with the other park water soaked guests. EW. I then noticed something a little amiss. Up ahead of me was this little whelp of guy holding an infant. Couldn’t have been more than a few months old. Beyond thinking, “Hey, get that kid under some cover, it’s hot and sunny out here,” I couldn’t help but wonder how this guy was going to pull this off when he got to the deck. There’s no way in all of Zelienople that they are going to let that kid ride and I didn’t see any mother around, either. Once we got up to the deck I saw the master plan. Momma was riding two cars ahead of him and when her car came back in, he was ready to get on after handing the baby over to her. Made more sense to me after witnessing it. Still, they handed off an infant over a gap in the floor which made me cringe a little. Yet, that all went away as I got ready to try out a new coaster. In all, the ride lasted just over a minute and was pretty neat, save the hour wait.
By now, the late afternoon sun was blazing over the park’s horizon and was still very hot. My wife snuck in another splash down cleansing and an hour long wait for the indoor coaster called The Exterminator while I rode The Whip and the Carousel with the munchkin. We stopped for some pizza and then I was back to Kiddieland while my wife rode the Aero 360 with her niece. Until now, we both looked at that ride like it was enough to make us yack. She rode it twice, though, loving it. I was still enjoying being a proud parent and wearing that badge of honor as my little one continued to ride her heart out on the miniature rides. Unfortunately, another spin and puke called the Dizzy Dynamo. It was a bit like a Tilt-A-Whirl but I felt more like it was a Tilt-A-Hurl. She got to ride the mini Turtles and a few more rides before my wife got back.
We decided to ride the carousel and the Paratrooper before getting ice cream. I was all set to spray the crowd on the Paratrooper while my daughter giggled and laughed all throughout the ride. As we stood in line for ice cream the flood gates opened over the park. It had been threatening to rain since before sunset and now we were caught inside the park. We all hopped up on the covered porch surrounding the cafeteria and ate our ice cream before dodging the raindrops back to the van.
That’s when it happened. We had one more ride to go on and it was the car ride home. This little angel, this perfect child, this kid who spent the better part of seven hours riding her but off didn’t make it out of the parking lot before crashing. So, I guess I can still find enjoyment and excitement at the amusement park at my age without having to wear black socks up to my knees or shake my fist at the “damn kids” who whiz past me heading for the roller coaster queues. I just have to spend some time watching my kid enjoy the hell out of riding the rides. I don’t have to worry about my tubes going all wonky or fear that my Potato Patch fries might make a reappearance. I kind of like it that way. I still like that car ride at the end of the day. That’s still my favorite. By the way, I need a shower. I've got some serious "wet guest" funk going on with my person. Should have worn a wet suit.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Queasy Rider
Summer is officially here, at least that’s what those pesky Gregorians say. That means I can get to work earlier because there are no busses stopping every ten feet in front of me. It also means parents are going nuts because their kids are home for three months. For some of those parents it inevitably means trips to the amusement park. I am a big amusement park enthusiast and have even worked for two different parks during my college days. Of course, over the past ten years my enthusiasm has waned, probably because of my approach towards curmudgeon years. Yeah, I skipped midlife crisis and straight to UP in terms of “get of my lawn” mentality. But in my youth, oh my youth, I was a diehard park denizen.
It seems rather odd that I fondly remember my youth and recall a time when I was deadly afraid of even stepping near a roller coaster. My first memory of actually riding a coaster was The Big Bad Wolf at Busch Gardens. After that, I went straight to the Loch Ness Monster. After that trip, I was fully prepared to take on the sum of all fears back home, The Laser Loop.
Yes, The Laser Loop scared the pants off of me as a small child. The damn thing was a straight track that one way, and then back. But it had a loop in the middle that you rode through twice, once forward and then in reverse. I figured I needed to build up courage a bit so I tackled the rest of the coasters at Kennywood in preparation. That meant I had to survive the double dip popping out of your seat terror that was the Jackrabbit and the equally tension filled race to the finish that was the Racer. These were mere child’s play against the heart stopping Thunderbolt. I am of course adding a dose of exaggerated sarcasm to this posts. I had already passed the test by riding the Loch Ness Monster. These other coasters were pretty tame, but still exciting.
But that’s what Kennywood was to me as a kid. Each May we’d anticipate the joy of going to school to buy ticket books for the school’s picnic. Yes, I said tickets. In fact, I am totally piggy backing this post from another local blogger who just waxed on / waxed off nostalgic by mentioning the ride tickets in Pittsburgh Magazine.
In another, “get of my lawn” moment, a bunch of kids out there are probably saying, ”tickets?” Yes, you whipper snappers, now show me your damn ride ticket or I’m tossing you over the railing, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade style. For most of my life, going to Kennywood meant buying tickets to ride the rides. There was no “all day pass.” There was no wrist band and black light stamp at the gate. There was no metal detector, restrictions or Spanish ownership then either. Nope, just a pavilion, a goofy sailor hat with your name on it, and a quest for Potato Patch Fries or funnel cake.
Oh, yes, the sights, sounds, and smells of Kennywood, growing up. I know it's a tad outdated but everytime Rick Sebak's Kennywood Memories comes on television, I have to watch it. Even though it's from 1988 it still holds a lot of great history about the park pre 1990s. And to me, that's when the park was most fun. The day I would go to school, armed with my parents' money to buy tickets was like going opening up that Wonka bar and finding the golden ticket. I received my booklet and some older gentleman would usher me away from the hordes saying, "Run home, and don't stop till you get there!!!!"
After we got our ticket books and a day off from school, we would descend on the park in yellow busses. College students bemoaned the sight of that sea of busses pulling into the lots and soon the check-your-brain-at-the-gate-ask-any-and-all-stupid-questions mentality took over. First up, the Thunderbolt. The pre-coaster me would have needed a change of shorts but the new and improved thrill seeker wanted front car, hands up, loosened seat belt adrenaline. As we’d come around that first hill and get ready to plunge into the circular curves in the front, I could see that damned Laser Loop in the distance taunting me.
Next up, the Racer. Everyone would split up into factions, choosing opposite cars in an attempt for bragging rights. Only those who knew the secret could easily predict the winner, and it had nothing to do with color of car. Lastly, we’d hit the Jack Rabbit and nearly lose our stomach and seat on that double dip hill. By then, it was time to get some Potato Patch Fries, drowned in cheese and salt. The eleven year old body could handle two or three baskets whereas my more stout frame now needs to consider the seat belts on rides after eating. Still, that Laser Loop dogged me from behind. I could hear it laughing as it screamed past my head in the background.
In fact, I didn’t ride the Laser Loop at all that year. More to the point, I was still afraid to ride the Gold Rusher. Ok, I admit it, I was a wuss. The Gold Rusher was one of those in the dark, turn the corner and there’s the monster with loud blaring sounds and bright lights. The spider and the train really made me lose my bowels. Eventually, I laughed at the notion of being so scared of such a cheese ball ride. But that Laser Loop was still scaring me silly. Now, to be totally honest, the ride stopped scaring me about a year after I started riding coasters. However, even when I was ready to ride the coaster it would always be broke down. I never did ride it and I wasn’t about to travel to Mexico to ride it after they moved it in 1991. But the replacement was an upgrade. The Steel Phantom boasted, at the time, one of the steepest drops at 232 feet. Of course, this was going downhill along the landscape through the Thunderbolt. But even that ride was changed almost a decade later to The Phantom’s Revenge. No loops and no headaches. Those came from being in the park as an adult.
But as an adult, there are still reasons to go to the park. Unfortunately, for my cholesterol level, the main reason is food. Nothing beats good amusement park food and you cannot go wrong with Potato Patch fries, a funnel cake, or a Cyclone Cone from nearby Idlewild. Who can resist a waffle cone with vanilla ice cream, fresh cut strawberries and whipped cream? Now that I’m a parent I can safely say that I am not there for the rides as I will probably be in Kiddie Land all day long smelling the pizza stand just outside the archway. I also like to play the games. Not because I like to collect stuffed animals but because as a former games attendant in my youth, I feel the need to show that I can still take the Bowler Roller game for a huge prize without spending more than two dollars. However, I am out of practice these past few years. As an adult, I’ve traded in school picnics for company picnics. I’ve traded in trying to look cool for actually being cool as in temperature. It was always a fashion show, growing up, as we wanted to look good for that special girl or guy that we’d hope would ask us to ride the Haunted Hideaway. But now, I was just hoping to make it through the day without heat stroke or a pizza stain on my shirt.
Another year would go by and the park seemed smaller. The summers got hotter and the lines longer. My tolerance for crowds was lessening Also, my Eustachian tubes’ tolerance for going in circles or backwards was diminishing. There was a time, at the age of 15, that I could ride the Rotor five times in a row. No more. I can’t even ride the Pirate Ship without wanting to vomit.The park also seems a little less sparkly every year. You get that overwhelming smell of wet and sweat from people who come off of water rides onto the hot pavement. The proximity to the water and trees raises the humidity a good deal. Soon, I find myself trading in the thrill rides for the quiet and gentle ride on the train with the ever present Bruce Springsteen’s “Born In the USA” capping off the regional history lesson. As I hit the back nine of my 30s I feel as if the greatest ride in the park is the ride home.
It’s not that I have stopped loving amusement parks, it’s just I hate dealing with everything else at a amusement park besides the rides and attractions. I will ultimately be forced to make a trip to Disney World one day because my daughter will be old enough to enjoy it. It upsets me that I should be wanting to go there and have a good time. It upsets me that I know I will be my old curmudgeonly self yelling at the kids to pull up their damn pants and get out of my way. In a weird sort of way, I will become the Laser Loop, scaring kids who come near me. I can only hope I don’t end up being sold to a park in Mexico City. I don’t think they will have as good of French fries as we have here.
It seems rather odd that I fondly remember my youth and recall a time when I was deadly afraid of even stepping near a roller coaster. My first memory of actually riding a coaster was The Big Bad Wolf at Busch Gardens. After that, I went straight to the Loch Ness Monster. After that trip, I was fully prepared to take on the sum of all fears back home, The Laser Loop.
Yes, The Laser Loop scared the pants off of me as a small child. The damn thing was a straight track that one way, and then back. But it had a loop in the middle that you rode through twice, once forward and then in reverse. I figured I needed to build up courage a bit so I tackled the rest of the coasters at Kennywood in preparation. That meant I had to survive the double dip popping out of your seat terror that was the Jackrabbit and the equally tension filled race to the finish that was the Racer. These were mere child’s play against the heart stopping Thunderbolt. I am of course adding a dose of exaggerated sarcasm to this posts. I had already passed the test by riding the Loch Ness Monster. These other coasters were pretty tame, but still exciting.
But that’s what Kennywood was to me as a kid. Each May we’d anticipate the joy of going to school to buy ticket books for the school’s picnic. Yes, I said tickets. In fact, I am totally piggy backing this post from another local blogger who just waxed on / waxed off nostalgic by mentioning the ride tickets in Pittsburgh Magazine.
In another, “get of my lawn” moment, a bunch of kids out there are probably saying, ”tickets?” Yes, you whipper snappers, now show me your damn ride ticket or I’m tossing you over the railing, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade style. For most of my life, going to Kennywood meant buying tickets to ride the rides. There was no “all day pass.” There was no wrist band and black light stamp at the gate. There was no metal detector, restrictions or Spanish ownership then either. Nope, just a pavilion, a goofy sailor hat with your name on it, and a quest for Potato Patch Fries or funnel cake.
Oh, yes, the sights, sounds, and smells of Kennywood, growing up. I know it's a tad outdated but everytime Rick Sebak's Kennywood Memories comes on television, I have to watch it. Even though it's from 1988 it still holds a lot of great history about the park pre 1990s. And to me, that's when the park was most fun. The day I would go to school, armed with my parents' money to buy tickets was like going opening up that Wonka bar and finding the golden ticket. I received my booklet and some older gentleman would usher me away from the hordes saying, "Run home, and don't stop till you get there!!!!"
After we got our ticket books and a day off from school, we would descend on the park in yellow busses. College students bemoaned the sight of that sea of busses pulling into the lots and soon the check-your-brain-at-the-gate-ask-any-and-all-stupid-questions mentality took over. First up, the Thunderbolt. The pre-coaster me would have needed a change of shorts but the new and improved thrill seeker wanted front car, hands up, loosened seat belt adrenaline. As we’d come around that first hill and get ready to plunge into the circular curves in the front, I could see that damned Laser Loop in the distance taunting me.
Next up, the Racer. Everyone would split up into factions, choosing opposite cars in an attempt for bragging rights. Only those who knew the secret could easily predict the winner, and it had nothing to do with color of car. Lastly, we’d hit the Jack Rabbit and nearly lose our stomach and seat on that double dip hill. By then, it was time to get some Potato Patch Fries, drowned in cheese and salt. The eleven year old body could handle two or three baskets whereas my more stout frame now needs to consider the seat belts on rides after eating. Still, that Laser Loop dogged me from behind. I could hear it laughing as it screamed past my head in the background.
In fact, I didn’t ride the Laser Loop at all that year. More to the point, I was still afraid to ride the Gold Rusher. Ok, I admit it, I was a wuss. The Gold Rusher was one of those in the dark, turn the corner and there’s the monster with loud blaring sounds and bright lights. The spider and the train really made me lose my bowels. Eventually, I laughed at the notion of being so scared of such a cheese ball ride. But that Laser Loop was still scaring me silly. Now, to be totally honest, the ride stopped scaring me about a year after I started riding coasters. However, even when I was ready to ride the coaster it would always be broke down. I never did ride it and I wasn’t about to travel to Mexico to ride it after they moved it in 1991. But the replacement was an upgrade. The Steel Phantom boasted, at the time, one of the steepest drops at 232 feet. Of course, this was going downhill along the landscape through the Thunderbolt. But even that ride was changed almost a decade later to The Phantom’s Revenge. No loops and no headaches. Those came from being in the park as an adult.
But as an adult, there are still reasons to go to the park. Unfortunately, for my cholesterol level, the main reason is food. Nothing beats good amusement park food and you cannot go wrong with Potato Patch fries, a funnel cake, or a Cyclone Cone from nearby Idlewild. Who can resist a waffle cone with vanilla ice cream, fresh cut strawberries and whipped cream? Now that I’m a parent I can safely say that I am not there for the rides as I will probably be in Kiddie Land all day long smelling the pizza stand just outside the archway. I also like to play the games. Not because I like to collect stuffed animals but because as a former games attendant in my youth, I feel the need to show that I can still take the Bowler Roller game for a huge prize without spending more than two dollars. However, I am out of practice these past few years. As an adult, I’ve traded in school picnics for company picnics. I’ve traded in trying to look cool for actually being cool as in temperature. It was always a fashion show, growing up, as we wanted to look good for that special girl or guy that we’d hope would ask us to ride the Haunted Hideaway. But now, I was just hoping to make it through the day without heat stroke or a pizza stain on my shirt.
Another year would go by and the park seemed smaller. The summers got hotter and the lines longer. My tolerance for crowds was lessening Also, my Eustachian tubes’ tolerance for going in circles or backwards was diminishing. There was a time, at the age of 15, that I could ride the Rotor five times in a row. No more. I can’t even ride the Pirate Ship without wanting to vomit.The park also seems a little less sparkly every year. You get that overwhelming smell of wet and sweat from people who come off of water rides onto the hot pavement. The proximity to the water and trees raises the humidity a good deal. Soon, I find myself trading in the thrill rides for the quiet and gentle ride on the train with the ever present Bruce Springsteen’s “Born In the USA” capping off the regional history lesson. As I hit the back nine of my 30s I feel as if the greatest ride in the park is the ride home.
It’s not that I have stopped loving amusement parks, it’s just I hate dealing with everything else at a amusement park besides the rides and attractions. I will ultimately be forced to make a trip to Disney World one day because my daughter will be old enough to enjoy it. It upsets me that I should be wanting to go there and have a good time. It upsets me that I know I will be my old curmudgeonly self yelling at the kids to pull up their damn pants and get out of my way. In a weird sort of way, I will become the Laser Loop, scaring kids who come near me. I can only hope I don’t end up being sold to a park in Mexico City. I don’t think they will have as good of French fries as we have here.
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