I guess I fit the “former rides” category as my first memories were always sprung upon my sister and my first cousins and I from the lunch table Grandma’s house. Grandma lived in da hood, but gentrification is not an important bone of contention at seven years young and, to the best of my infant intellect and knowledge, drive-bys weren’t invented yet.
I remember the kiddie boats, The Galaxy and some ride with a purple smiling caterpillar head. It was a great time for me as cutting grass for hours on end for a grape soda and a bologna sandwich was a kinda wack way to spend my summer Saturdays.
I returned years later in my early 20s, and I’m not sure why I was there. I had no kids, I knew no kids, grand-folk long since kicked the bucket. I’m guessing a college break, day trip with my other underachieving droogs and chelovecks all smiley with Maui Wowie.
The changes in terms of the mechanics in the guts of the rides were tremendously improved, no more sideways whiplash as your aquatic or non slammed into the wooden side running boards on every entry into any turn, “made me who I am today” I’d like to say to someone.
It’s not Bush Gardens, it’s not even Cedar Point but for what it’s worth, for the kids, it sure beats doing nuthin’.
I knew it at the time as much as I know it now and as much as it bothers me, I’m not changing the fact that I spelled cheeseburger incorrectly. And nobody called me out on it. (I was driving, the sun was in my eyes, the elevation caused light-headedness and much more) The call out person would have levitated from parts unknown to reach me with the secret piece of jagged gold locket that fit my other half perfectly — true love.. Only pulling your lariats, I love you all..
I’d have bet dollars to donuts after observing the barn that Burger Barn would have had me saying “where are my socks?” As in ‘knocking them off’, well – not exactly, due to a smidge of too much grill time. Big thick burgers are not to my liking either, this was not that, as there’s usually issues in the middle. So the double or triple stacked mid bovine grind are more my preference, assuming cook temp is shy of Chernobyl. My double was a bit well done, but the free fixings options righted the ship quicklike.
Leave it to the gastronomic genius over here to order a Philly cheese steak at a burger joint. (Oh crap, am I spelling this wrong too, are the words connected? I’m loosing it folks, and at such a young age too, pity, pity. Well, at least I have my looks — no, wait, they’re gone too. I’ll get back to ya on that one)
I just wanted something I had fond memories of as the weighted down wagon rumbled Northbound — anybody remember SteakUms?
Au jus would have had tremendous redeeming qualities, as was pointed out by a SC homie of mine. But for road food and to support local business, I’ll go that route all day long.
Four hundred and sixty nine miles of rugged terrain sit upon the short yet sturdy hills of the lower Adirondack trail. It feels very close to you, because it is very close — you and the road are in it.
Winding roads do not detract from the smooth ease of the venture upwards, and then downwards, it adds to the feeling. The feeling of being into a mountain and coming out the back end, a light form of modern day, hustle and bustle expedition.
Of the many words I set aside to describe the drive, ‘Diversity’ is the one that comes most often to mind. Diversity of nature more specifically, what you see in December is not what what you will see in May nor will September show you any February.