When I was a kid on a Sunday every summer it would be Ohio County day at Beech Bend Amusement Park in Bowling Green, Kentucky. There would be posters in every store window in Beaver Dam and Hartford, and you could get a free pass into the park. The pass also meant a few free tickets for rides. At the park my parents would eventually run into people they knew who had endured as much of the heat and the noise they could stand and who would give us their leftover ride tickets. Other than gas (cheap then) and snow cones and hot dogs, the day was pretty much free for my folks.
As that Sunday approached, the excitement would build for my brother, sister, and me. We'd finally ride the 45 minutes to Bowling Green, talking about the animals in the small zoo, the games we could play and the prizes we’d win, and the rides: the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Whip and the Wild Mouse. The latter one, a rickety-looking roller coaster, I never rode. But I could spin and snap on the other two until I was so dizzy and whiplashed I could barely walk.
We’d arrive in Bowling Green’s city limits, ready to go straight to the park. And then we'd be sunk. We’d forgotten about my dad’s annual search for the shortcut to Beech Bend, a shortcut he insisted had to exist. He’d start the search immediately. We'd fuss, of course, but Momma would hush us. For what seemed forever, the five of us would drive in circles in our car, windows down because there was no air conditioning. We kids were recalling how long the search had taken in years past and another obstacle that might delay us once we’d reached the seemingly-endless one-lane road that would take us into the park. Every year at least one car would break down and need to be pushed to the grassy median, slowing traffic even more. We’d finally pass that car, sitting there on the side of the road, steam rising from its radiator, glad our car hadn’t done that. We knew the sooner we got to Beech Bend’s entrance road, the sooner we could be past all obstacles and on the rides. Finally we'd start to fuss again, unable to be quiet any longer, and Momma would tell Daddy to go on to the amusement park. He’d give up on the shortcut until the next county day at Beech Bend. And the scenario would play out in pretty much the same way it did every year except as I grew older I became wiser and carried a book to read.
Years later as a college student I picked up a map at a service station in Bowling Green, and I discovered that there had never been a shortcut because all the roads were cut off due to the river and the railroad. A map, what a concept!
