In Which the Orbiter Kicks My Butt

Note: I am posting this from Wray, Colorado, where we are about to embark on a trek by bicycle through all 10 miles of Colorado to the border of Nebraska, then across Nebraska, meeting up with Ragbrai and continuing across Iowa until we end in Iowa City. MUCH MORE ON THAT TO FOLLOW, as the reins of bike-trip blogging have been passed to me by Tom Hermann, who wrote a fantastic blog of last year's trip. These are hard shoes to fill! so I won't even try, but look for updates as often as we can find wi-fi. In the meantime, here's a little story from a few days back...

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So it's Cherry Festival around here. In case you didn't know, Traverse City is the "Cherry Capital of the World." Says who? Why Traverse City, of course.

Anyway, each year they have a big festival to celebrate all the cherries, none of which are usually ready at the time of the festival. And this year is no exception. I believe they are trucking in the cherries from Washington State.

Holy cow, I have just discovered that the Cherry Festival has its own entry in Wikipedia. You can check it out here.

As a point of information, I have personally toured the Leelanau Fruit Company, where they process the cherries just north of town. You would not believe what they go through to process thousands and thousands of cubic meters of cherries, thus providing fodder for the world's fruit cakes (I'm not kidding). They basically have to de-color and de-taste the cherries by bleaching them and putting them in solutions of brine...thus enabling the preservation of the cherries for four or five years at least...only to add in artificial color and taste later. What's wrong with this picture, people? Am I the only one who thinks this is nuts?

Do we really need all those fruitcakes?

Anyway, with the Cherry Festival comes music, food stands, three-stories-tall inflatable bottles of Miller beer, and the like. And the MIDWAY CARNIVAL.

Now I was walking by the carnival a few days ago and saw something that made my heart skip a beat: a SCRAMBLER. Or what I thought was a Scrambler, anyway. The Scrambler, for those who might not know, is the favorite ride of my childhood (and my mom's favorite ride, too)...that gentle, dreamy, floaty ride that made you squish comfortably against the person beside you as you flew from starpoint to starpoint in the figure you were tracing on the ground. You know the one.

So I see this Scrambler, and I'm dying to go. But who knows when I'm getting to the carnival, or IF I'm getting to the carnival.

But then it turns out my friend Polly is playing in the community band in their "Salute to Heroes" Monday night, and I rearrange a few things and go. And I talk my friend Claudia into coming with me.

We have this great dinner, which Claudia has made with herbs from her garden. Bless people who grow things and cook. And we polish off a bottle of wine that I brought to go along with it (bless grocery stores). And we walk to the festival and have a great time listening to the band, and then, on the way back, THERE IT IS. The Midway Carnival.

Just walking in there is a trip down memory lane, or maybe a trip down psychedelic crazy lane. Everything is neon and flashing and smells like elephant ears and popcorn. Giant machines are swinging up and down carrying people screaming in delight.

So I say to Claudia hey, there's this ride in here, it's called the Scrambler, do you know it? Wanna go on it? Huh, do ya do ya? Pleeeeeease??

Claudia looks skeptical, which in retrospect was definitely the wise position to take. But I talk her into it and we head for the Scrambler, past the Swings Ride and just before the Elephant Ride where you sit in a baby elephant that looks like Dumbo and go around in a circle, occasionally being surprised by being lifted into the air. "Hey, how about that elephant ride?" asks Claudia.

In retrospect, that elephant ride would have been just the ticket.

But no, there was the Scrambler in all its glory.

Except it was called "The Orbiter."

Hmm.

Several people were sitting in "The Orbiter" and the gate was closed, and I was disappointed to think maybe we'd have to wait a round, but no! the operator motioned for us to come on up the ramp! so up we ran. He unlocked the gate, guided us to our Scrambler--er, Orbiter--seat, and put the bar down. We were in! The fun was about to begin. Memories of past Scrambler rides floated through my mind as I eagerly anticipated the start of the ride.

We chatted a little as the operater went around and closed everyone else's bars. What's taking so long? Let's go!

And then it began.

And right away, I knew something had gone TERRIBLY WRONG.

Instead of the dreamy, gentle beginning where you kind of float along the ground from one side to the other, Claudia and I were launched immediately INTO SPACE. And it was NOT GENTLE. And there we were, careening around the center post of "The Orbiter" in tight little circles that criss-crossed themselves, the kind of tight little circles that make a person wonder not if, but when she is going to toss her cookies. Screams emanated from our seat in the Orbiter, not the afore-mentioned delighted kind, but more the "Holy-mother-of-all-that-is-holy-what-have-we-gotten-ourselves-into?" variety. Loud music blared and seemed to goad "The Orbiter" into even faster and tighter circles. Claudia and I hung on for dear life. Screams were replaced by whimpers, which then faded into grim silence. It was now a matter of survival as we whirled around and around. And around. And around...

Finally, a slight jolt in the machinery indicated--could it be?--yes! thank all that is merciful! "The Orbiter" was slowing down, and coming to a halt! The handsome young carny operator came and let us out and we wobbled out of the seat and back down the ramp. "HOLY COW!" I said. About a million times. It was all my mind could compute. "HOLY COW! WHAT WAS THAT?!" The world was spinning and my insides were all mixed up. Crazy alley had become even crazier. We walked through the throngs of people and the bright machines and flashing neon lights and said "HOLY COW!" and tried not to look at the elephant ears or any other food-related items and kept walking until we were far, far away from the carnival.

Holy cow!

"I'm not feeling so good," said Claudia.

"Me neither," I said.

This really went without saying, but we were just making conversation.

"The walk will do us good," I said.

"I think I'll have to walk all the way to Sutton's Bay," Claudia replied.

(Sutton's Bay is 15 miles up the peninsula, for you non-Michiganders.)

We walked to Claudia's house, about a 15-minute pilgrimage, and collapsed on the couch.

"The Orbiter kicked our butts!" I said. I was beginning to feel better.

"Let us never speak of this again," Claudia said.

We laughed, but it was only partly funny.

I rode my bike home...slowly. I was still not back to normal when I arrived at home, nor when I went to bed after drinking several glasses of ice water. It was not until this morning that I felt like myself again. And it was not until tonight, when Claudia and I were relating this debacle to a friend, that I realized if I'd had half a brain paying attention, I should have seen this coming. "We were just LAUNCHED INTO SPACE!' I exclaimed, still indignant that what I thought was the Scrambler could have inflicted this upon us.

"Well, it is called 'The Orbiter,'" Claudia pointed out.

The ORBITER!

DUH!

Pre-Orbiter