You don’t have to take the ride to have fun at the fair

There was a time when I would buy the ticket and take the ride.

I would buckle and strap myself into those giant, moving machines and give them a permission slip to spin me around, flip me upside down, rattle my bones, defy gravity and hurl me through space.

Grown people had to pry me away. Don’t stop until you drop. That was my motto – at least until the tickets or tokens ran out.

Then came a time later in life when I realized I had my fill of roller coasters. Age – partnered with wisdom and experience – had me crying “mercy.” No longer an “Easy Rider,” I opted to retire from tilt-a-whirls and haunted mansions.

Life at the fair settled in as a spectator sport.

The thrill is not gone. It’s in a calmer, gentler place.

I still park on the grassy field, make my way through the turnstiles and stuff my face with funnel cakes and elephant ears at the Georgia National Fair.

Only now I retreat to the sidelines under the blinking lights of the midway. I keep my feet on the ground in the shadow of the giant Ferris wheel. I keep a safe distance from the Fire Ball, Tidal Wave, Wild Claw and Super Himalaya.

In the ocean of motion along the southwest corner of the fairgrounds, I prefer to walk the beach at low tide.

The signs don’t keep me away. I’m certainly tall enough to ride every ride. I meet all the other requisites.

I have no desire to be bumped, careened, jostled and have my insides pureed like a smoothie in a Ninja blender.

A need for speed? Not really. Most of the time Interstate 75 is like a race track.

Spin cycle? No thanks. I once had a bout with vertigo. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

Squeals, shrieks and screams? I walk the halls of a high school and middle school, so I usually meet my daily quota of noise and high drama.

A desire to be scared? Turn on the 6 o’clock news. It’s frightening.

Not even the lure of the Midway Sky Eye, one of the largest traveling Ferris wheels in North America, is enough to get me in the game. I don’t have many phobias. But of those I do have, acrophobia (fear of heights) is at the top – no pun intended – of the list. Anything taller than two stories makes my legs turn to jelly.

The carnival barkers, sometimes known as “carnies,” still try to lure and bait me. They issue challenges to test the accuracy of my arm with baseballs and darts.

I no longer need to win a giant, stuffed animal to impress my girl. I’ve been married to her for 35 years. I have no desire to flip a coin into a bowl for a chance at winning a goldfish with an expiration date of 9:15 p.m.

I am not compelled to pay to peek inside a tent for a glimpse of a half-reptile midget lady. There are plenty of freak shows walking around the fairgrounds. I can sit on a bench and observe. I will keep my money in my pocket.

I know what some of you are thinking. This guy is a wimp. Gris has become a grumpy, old couch potato chip.

Nope. I love the fair. I love to people watch, stroll the midway, exercise my taste buds, listen to the music and catch a whiff of the animals. (No fair experience is complete without the barnyard smell of sheep, swine.)

There is little magic left in the world. I like to believe the fair is one of those special events that draws us near.

I will leave the rides to the young and young-at-heart. I can have just as much fun watching them have fun.

This story was originally published October 6, 2017 at 7:02 PM with the headline "You don’t have to take the ride to have fun at the fair."