I wrote this narrative earlier this week and thought some of you old timers might appreciate it!!
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"My Buddy"
I’ve always believed some of the most valuable things a person can possess in his or her lifetime are memories. Whether preserved by film, video, both or simply by recollection in the mind, memories can be the most lasting things a person can hold on to. This narrative will discuss a specific group of memories I’ll hold close to my heart forever as I prepare to make another trip to a place I have nothing but good thoughts about.
For as a long as I can remember, my Aunt Pat has worked for General Electric. Although requiring a lot of travel and relocation, the job always had several perks. One such perk was the annual “GE Day” at Kings Island Amusement Park near Cincinnati.
I suppose one of the biggest things I can remember from those trips is how far KI seemed to be away from Bellevue. With Cedar Point casting a shadow over our backyard, it seemed like we could walk there to enjoy the rides and other amusements. But with KI, we had to make that four-hour trip down I-75 – and as a 10-year old, a four-hour car ride can seem twice that long.
Many times our trips south took the form of a cavalry. There could be anywhere from 2-5 cars trucking down 75, sometimes even using two-way radios, primitive walkie-talkies or whatever else Denny Malott could string together before we left. It was always fun to see the separation of people, too. One car would have all the women, one car all the “men.” One year the Malott family put enough trust into an old green car known affectionately as “The Pickle.” With bright green paint and starch white leather interior, my dad was admonished by Terri Malott for stashing away a heavy supply of Hershey’s kisses, as the heat and kid factor could lead to chocolate on the pristine seats. He did it anyway, using the candy as reward (or collateral) to keep us under control during the drive.
As Aunt Pat’s vehicle led the way, the trips would often be cut up by food stops at Waffle House, Ponderosa or some unnamed buffet. And, if the chants were loud and obnoxious enough – led by Kathryn, a quick run through K-Mart to check the local blue light specials would be in order as well.
In the majority of those excursions, PK would get us rooms at a sparkling Holiday Inn just north of Cincy. Not only were the rooms great, but the spacious indoor Holidome was a spectacular, sprawling playground that – ever so slightly – made us push the tantalizing thoughts of roller coasters and waterslides on hold, at least for a couple hours. The Holidome had the usual amenities for kids, the ball pit, (Wyatt and me never ****ed in there, can’t say the same for Drew and Alex) a massive three-story jungle gym – underneath which there were giant life-savers that created a maze – and of course the standard pools and putt-putt course.
I will say this: I am by no means a morning person. However, when the wake-up call sounded that next morning at whatever ungodly hour it was, I shot straight out of bed and was ready to go in seconds. We tried as best we could to cram as many people into one or two cars as we could to avoid parking expenses and made the short trek to the park.
Kings Island is not as visually stimulating as Cedar Point. However, KI does have one thing CP doesn’t. At CP your eyes dart everywhere looking for something to focus on when you walk in. At KI, there is no doubt what gets your attention. Past the main fountain is a breathtaking replica of the Eiffel Tower, stretching into the sky in its classic light blue color. Once you soak that in, you start to notice the other senses. You hear the screams and yells of the people, you smell roasting nuts, fried chicken, salt water taffy and cotton candy. You feel the awkwardly bricked pavement just inside the gate and along the sides of the International Street fountain. You watch Aunt Lia try and organize a family photo with a disposable camera. You watch Gram Linder rummaging through her “fanny pack” to make sure she has everything she needs for the day. You notice the long, awed gazes of the younger kids as they stare up at the rides they hope they can talk themselves into getting on. There are Denny and my dad striking up a conversation about nothing as mom runs off to the salt water taffy stand to buy a box for her mom.
Kings Island has an attached water park which is included in the regular admission. There, mom, Terri, Lia, Aunt Marilyn and Gram would coast peacefully down the lazy river as dad braved the straight-down speed slide as Denny tried to catch it all on video. It seemed like dad was sliding down from the heavens on that thing.
I have so many vivid memories from the individual rides at Kings Island. From getting stuck on the lift hill of Adventure Express with Drew to my absolutely disappointment in not being tall enough to get on King Cobra, I remember it all. I can remember getting in line to ride The Racer, a wooden classic featuring racing trains – only one runs forward and the other runs backward. I can still see Aunt Marilyn crossing over into the backward line and thinking to myself, “how cool is she? I wonder if someday I can get on a ride like that and be as brave as her.” There was also of course the incident on White Water Canyon – an inner-tube water ride that passed under towers shooting water. To get to this ride, you have to walk through a densely wooded area, so there are no visuals until you are basically ON the ride. I did, however, notice the people walking back after riding. They had no dry spots whatsoever. I was petrified. But there was big, strong Gram Linder to provide the comfort and serenity I needed. “I will protect you, Ty. Don’t worry.” Well I was sold. So we boarded this tube and were sent on our way. Now, to Gram’s credit and defense, you are held firmly in your seat with tight seat belts. So as we drifted under a mammoth water tower about to blast us, I GUESS she kind of leaned over and tried to make true on her promise. Regardless, both of us got soaked to the bone, which worked out to my benefit because then no one could see my tears! I held a grudge against Gram for that episode, but looking back, she taught me a great lesson – rides are meant to be enjoyed, not feared. And from that very day, there was not a ride I’ve come across I was scared to get on. Thanks Gram.
I also remember braving The Vortex with Wyatt – a steel coaster with six inversions. Dad bought us great t-shirts for our efforts that we wore back to the park every year after. There was also a kid’s coaster called The Beastie that Drew, Ben and Alex rode that at the time seemed really cool, too.
But that was before I was introduced to his daddy.
Back at the rear of the park, there are concession stands, souvenir shops and a great little theatre. Everything seems so charmingly old fashioned. On the ground, though were these giant yellow paw prints that seemed very out-of-place. Then you notice the type of people has changed too. There aren’t many kids. If you follow the yellow prints, you are led around a rock wall to this wooden walkway. It’s dark now, so you can’t see much. Once inside the walkway, there are very dim lights and a maze of dark brown metal pipes that form a queue line. Keep walking and suddenly you are walking up a ramp. Once there, you can’t help but look back outside and see two peculiar lights rising high above the thick forest at the edge of the park. Eventually the ramp leads you into an intimidating room which is even darker. There, people are abuzz as they walk across wooden platforms into bright red trains to ride… The Beast. Once you are in the train, it slowly pulls out of the station around a 180-degree circle as several support wires dance at the stress caused by the weight of the trains – one of the more vivid memories I have of the whole ride. Simply put, this ride at night is unmatched on the planet in terms of its excitement and experience. When you plummet down the first hill, you pitch face-first into a tunnel, just missing a rock pile by inches. From that point, it is three minutes of fast-paced, heart-pounding action as the train roars down the tracks, heading deep into the woods at unbelievable speeds. All the while you forget who you are even riding with, because you can’t see them. Near the end of the ride, you come barreling down the second hill into a covered double helix at angles which defy gravity. When you come rocketing out of the tunnel, your adrenaline is at a level you’ve never experienced. Finally, you enter the station and the lights of the park are once again evident.
People who know me know I refer to The Beast as a friend. I do this for a couple of reasons, the first of which I haven’t ever told anyone. To me, this ride is not just the greatest in the world. It’s not the pitch-black environment, nor even the helix. The Beast actually ties my current life to my youth. When I ride it, diving up and down the hills in the blindness of night, the memories come flashing back to me like no other place on earth. During a ride on The Beast, friends don’t live hundreds of miles away. Family members are not gone. They are all right there, riding it with me. The other reason I love the ride is because it’s a constant. In a society obsessed with the concept of change, it’s nice to know I can come back every year and my buddy will still be there. Ready to take me away on another runaway chase into the forest – just as good then as it was the first time.
In just a few days, I’ll make the trip to Kings Island. Not as a passenger in a suburban, but driving my own car. I won’t be going with a bunch of family members and friends and I won’t be able to try and drag Gram into the front seat of The Beast. Or will I?
