Timberman
Posts: 845
Registered: 9/21/2004
Rank: Gold Critic
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 5/22/2006 3:54:39 PM
I don't do this very often, but late last week I impulsively jumped into the car and drove almost 1200 miles through four states to ride a handful of legendary roller coasters, along with one new ride that some are calling the future of the art. The trip marked a turning point for me personally. I may soon be taking on some responsibilities that have the potential to cut down on my amusement park visitation opportunities markedly. Time, especially leisure time, has suddenly become precious to me in a way it never has been before. Consequently, I am becoming more discriminating about how I spend it and how I perceive others respecting it. If you start to feel like this trip report is a waste of time, please stop reading immediately.
So anyway, I pointed myself south from Casa Timberland near Detroit and set off for Indiana Beach. So great is my esteem for larrygator, our in-house dean of encyclopedic and well-traveled coaster knowledge, that his regard for this park had my expectations soaring. Along the way, I stopped for fuel, coffee, and donuts, and the cashier at the gas station had a hook for an arm. I don't know what this poor guy has had to endure to become as nonchalant and expertly adept at the use of that hook as he was on that morning, but something about his example lifted my already high spirits even further.
Somewhere in Brooklyn, the aerial was stolen from car, so its stereo only picks up radio stations with the broadest and most unobstructed coverage. I haven't fixed it, in part because it's an old car and I'm a chisler, but also because you can learn a lot about an unfamiliar area by tuning into its dominant radio stations. The first program the seek function settled upon in Indiana was a call-in show for persons who wanted to handle their money in a biblically sound manner. After about 22 miles this faded out, and "Let It Be" by the Beatles came on, followed by Jimi Hendrix's "Foxy Lady." The final transmission I was able to listen to was a country-western song apparently called "What Was I Thinking?" It was an autobiographical account of a guy who flings judgment aside because he is overwhelmed by impulses he cannot control, like lust, pride, and the desire for adventure. Meanwhile, traffic was light and the weather was sunny, clear, and cool. I wished my family could have been there (they couldn't get away from work or school), but otherwise, I could not have been happier.
Two miles from Indiana Beach, I drove into what appeared to be a Category 2 hurricane, with lashing winds and driving rain. Yet something about these Hoosiers told me they would not easily be deterred from their hard-earned amusements, so I pressed on. Sure enough, the clouds parted at almost the exact time I pulled into the park's free parking lot, and faint screams could be heard coming from the area of the rides. I was a little disoriented at first, because I'm not used to parking in a grassy field, and I was somewhat worried my car would sink into the marshy turf and have to be towed out. But those concerns could wait. I had coasters to ride.
The woman at the ticket booth told me she thought the coasters would be running, so I plunked down my $22.50 for a POP wristband and set off toward the dormant Cornball Express. When I arrived at the platform, two ride ops (who I was surprised to discover looked older than I am) were standing around eyeing the clouds. No one else was in the station. "Lighter crowd than I expected," I said. "Yeah," they replied. "We had to close down." "Oh," I said. "I drove all the way from Detroit to ride this." The men then looked at each other, and the beautiful sound of single-position buzzbars being released reverberated through the station. I then got an Elvis ride in the front seat of this amazing little roller coaster in a light, misty rain. My only regret was that the first ride of my multiday trip would seemingly be impossible to beat.
The sound of a funct
Message updated 5/22/2006 9:59:20 PM by Timberman
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