We'd go for the day to a fortress of machines and right away I would go to the big racing coaster and make my dad wait with me. Standing in line underneath the mechanical entrails of the wooden beast, I could smell the grease from the cranks of the coaster's chain-drives. It was so delicious sometimes I wished the smell would stick in my nose forever. (I know now that it is much better to match the grease with the coasters.)

           At first I would sweat and run from ride to ride making my dad keep up with me. I was selfish about it, but my dad didn't mind here. He knew here it was good and it was bigger than life

           But then I would see that my dad was tired, so I'd let him go and he'd let me go. He would go off somewhere and find a place in the park to sit; he would eat or read the paper or smoke his pipe. I would go back to the coaster and ride by myself even though I was still young, and my dad knew that that was good. He was always nearby.

           Ride after ride after ride. I never got tired. Each time it was different, and I would consume every moment of the coaster's journey. There was the long, exaggerated waiting and then the speed. There was the rugged, staggered bumpiness and then the smoothness. There were also many views: jarring views from within the monster's belly and high resolving views looking down upon the world. I saw, even then, how everyone on the train was transformed for these moments. And that's what you had to do. Consume every moment, devour every detail, and then see what you had in the end.

           When I did get a little tired, I would just sit and watch the coaster, sometimes for an hour straight. It must have been the graceful lines created by the trains running against the rickety wooden framework. I knew there was something unexplainable and unapproachable about it. The coaster, it seemed, would be there forever, and I would wish that I had built it. I wished to become it.

           Later, I would get very tired and when the fortress began to breathe in neon blues, reds, yellows, and greens, my dad knew it was a good time to go. But I would take one more ride and then walk along beside the track staring up at the masterful lattice-work. My dad would walk along with me and we would leave the fortress together.

           And it is that big dual-tracked roller coaster, with my dad beside me, that I remember most.




© Nick Pici, all rights reserved
 appears here by permission