Not long after we moved to Denver, I was forced by my wife to
take the family to Six Flags at Elitch Gardens. She was sure that
this would promote bonding and family happiness more than the trip
I wanted to take-the Coors Brewery tour, complete with product
testing. There was also a rumor about skinny-dipping in a brewing
vat that I wanted to check out.
But, being the family man that I am, we went to Six Flags. It
was the veiled threat involving sleeping on the couch and doing my
own cooking for the duration of our soon to be ended marriage that
really made up my mind.
To get to Six Flags, we had to use the world's longest and
narrowest parking lot, also known as Interstate 25. Any trip along
I-25 is a challenge. There are only two speeds allowed on the
highway. It is either dead stopped, bumper to bumper, or 75 MPH,
also done bumper to bumper. I try to stay off that highway as much
as possible. I have seen, as I go over it, men sitting on top of
their cars in traffic jams with signs saying, "Will trade lap-top
for bottled water" for two days in a row. We were lucky in that we
got a 75 MPH day, and were soon there.
By "there", I mean the parking lot. Now this is not your
ordinary parking lot. After several hours searching, we parked
somewhere in eastern Kansas. They had shuttle buses to take you to
the train stations to take you to the park entrance. We did not
know about the buses because people waiting for the buses had used
the signs as firewood. So we made the same mistake that thousands
had made before us, and we started walking. As we walked, we
started to see abandoned baby carriages, ice chests, and other
belongings that had become too burdensome. Soon we saw clothes and
pets that were left behind. I was expecting to see crosses marking
the graves of the brave souls that had died on the journey when we
finally got to the entrance.
As you know, most places like this have an ATM in case you need
cash. Six Flags has taken it one step farther and have a branch
bank so you can take out a loan on your house to buy tickets. There
is also a blood donor operation and a small dark building with a
sign that says, "We buy souls".
We were able to get in after persuading the ticket taker that
both our sons were under two by carrying them on our shoulders. It
would have been a snap, but my load's feet kept dragging and his
whiskers hurt my neck.
We soon found that this is where teen-agers go to stand in line
for hours and compare body piercings and tattoos. This was the
first time I have ever seen a person with a chrome-plated cannon
ball on a stick stuck through their tongue. I did not know the
human ear lobe could support as much weight as I saw on some of
these kids.
I soon found a beer vendor that often wandered off to look down
the front of some of the young ladies shirts and I could sneak a
re-fill while he was other wise engaged. After an hour or so of
this, I had enough liquid nerve to ride in a machine that looked
like a cross between a huge commercial clothes dryer and a rock
crusher.
I went to stand in line, but since I had no piercings or tattoos
to compare, and everyone wanted to see an old man (read over
thirty) ride on this apparatus, I did not have a chance to sober up
and regain good sense. I was strapped into a seat by a kid that had
half inch flat washers in his earlobes and a ring that would fit on
a Ford 460 piston in his nose. After that, things got a little
blurry. I do remember re-living my life 3 times completely and once
to age 41. One of the kids next to me peed in my pants.
As soon as I could, I went to find my wife and kids over next to
the grown-up rides.