The year was 1965, and it was mid-August.
As usual I was lying on the “sands” of the old Espyville beach, catching the sun’s rays, and drifting in and out of slumber as I listened to the melodies wafting from my transistor radio. Just a few yards to my one side stood the lifeguard throne rising out of the edge of the beach. Upon its shaky timbers sat a young man from Linesville (his name escapes me now). A great guy, who had every intention of someday becoming a Park Ranger. I hope that his intentions were fulfilled.
Across North Lake Road, beyond the picnic area of the beach, stood a smaller building/house which, in those days, had the purpose of being an ice cream and confectionary shop.
Gradually, as I slowly shook off the effects of my slumber, I felt the encroaching results of lying on the beach…THIRST! Since Mom and her thermos of water were not with me that afternoon, I slowly rose and tramped my way across the beach and picnic area, dodging the back-and-forth antics of the smaller children running around. Crossing over the asphalt surface of the roadway while in bare feet was quite an experience that day. BUT..despite the scorchings on my toes, I successfully made it across the roadway and up to the ice cream stand.
“Manning the station” that afternoon was one of my friends from Espyville, Dale. Born and raised in the town, his Family had been residents of the area for countless generations. Being a few years older than myself (a margin of only a couple of years), Dale, in my eyes, spoke with the Wisdom of Ages. Hence, when he made a suggestion, I, as well as all the other guys present, would take his words to heart.
After quenching my thirst with a bottle of Dad’s Rootbeer (was there any other kind), I and the two other young men present at the booth, listened intently to Dale’s words as he began to speak.
His wise suggestion that late afternoon was: since the afternoon was nearly over, why didn’t we four decide to make a journey to the nearby Conneaut Lake Park that evening? The weather would be perfect…not even a hint of rain…and the park would, obviously, be crowded with an overflow of young ladies to meet and share Time with. MOREVER, since George (ME) had just received as a birthday present from his parents a “sporty” new car, we had the means at our disposal to travel as a group to wherever we wished! “WHAT DAYATHINK, GEORGE?”
What did I think? WHAT DID I THINK??? WOW, what a GREAT plan!
We agreed to meet later at the ice cream booth as Dale closed it for the evening.
So…I “hightailed” it back across the burning asphalt, through the picnic area, down the beach, and gathered my stuff. Then, going as fast as I could, I trudged back to my parents’ domicile..informed my Mom of the “plan,” and got cleaned-up for the ADVENTURE. My Dad had not arrived as yet from Pittsburgh. This being a Friday, he would drive up to Pyma after work.
Mom gave her approval for my “journey,” and simply required that I be home by 9PM…before the last rays of the Summer Sun faded into the darkness of night. I promised!
After showering, dressing, and brushing my hair…and again, brushing my hair…I kissed Mom goodbye for the trip, and exited the homefront.
NOW…my “birthday vehicle” was something to be admired: a used, 1962 turquoise Chevrolet Corvair! For those who either don’t know, or don’t remember, the Corvair was a somewhat modified attempt by Chevrolet to create a sports car, which still would appeal to a Family. It’s engine was in the rear of the auto, and it would come either as a 2 or 4 door model. Mine was 4-door. MAN! I thought I owned the WORLD as I sat behind the wheel of that, my first, car!
I slid into the driver’s seat, and fired-her-up. Carefully backing out of the driveway, and moving down to Rt 285, as I turned onto the road, I “floored” the gas! WOW, I hit all of 35 MPH! (Corvairs were NOT the fastest cars in the world!)
Made my way to the now closed ice cream stand, where the other 3 companions waited, loaded them into my car, and we headed-off to our destination.
I drove over to Linesville, and from there, took the “back road” to the Park.
As we approached, the screams from the Blue Streak filled our ears, and the aromas of the park fries filled our nostrils. As one would remember, in those days, it was permissible (and expected) to drive slowly through the park…passing the entrance to the Blue Streak and the Carousel, and turning at the center section.
SLOWLY…SLOWLY…we made our passage through the Park. It must have taken at LEAST 30 minutes, or more, to travel the short route. At various times. I would stop my Corvair so that one of my passengers could escape and pursue his Dreams. Those “Dream,” of course would be the attempt to latch onto one of the young ladies walking around.
Eventually, I was alone in my car. I had no choice. I would NEVER leave my treasured Corvair alone in the park’s “wilderness…or was that the park’s wildness?) So, I parked my vehicle down near the now gone Beach House, and stayed in the driver’s seat.
The evening wore on…and on…and ON! I made no attempt to get out of the car. Although all the wonderful smells and sound of the Park filled my senses and did their utmost to tempt me, I remained glued to my seat.
As darkness slowly approached, I became more and more nervous. I had to get home! Mom would be REALLY upset…and, Dad? Well, let’s just say he wouldn’t be happy.
Finally, near approximately 9:30, my so-called friends started to slither back to me. When all three of these guys were seated, I revved up the Corvair’s engine, and exited the park.
One of the guys offered me a handful of the popcorn he had; but, I refused, concentrating all my energy upon driving home as quickly as possible.
Since it was now completely dark, I decided to avert my travels from the backroads, and stick to the more visible Rt 285. GREAT DECISION!
Rt 285 in those days, and the far western edge of Vernon Township, became a gravel/dirt roadway. Not the most pleasant way to travel.
As I meandered down the road, I aimed the Corvair across the train tracks tranversing the roadway near the beginnings of the “wildlife” designated area.
MAN…I must have been traveling at least a million miles an hour! Then, as the car crossed the train tracks, we became airborne! YEP, AIRBORNE!
Not stopping, or even attempting to lift my foot from the gas pedal, we came crashing down to the gravel once again. All my passengers were initially terrified…but, terror soon gave way to complete idiocy and laughter.
After what seemed like an Eternity, I dropped-off my passengers at the bowling alley at the end of Collins Drive, my home road. Entering my home, my parents were watching TV, reception being what it was.
I was astonished! They merely asked me if everything was alright! Did I have a good time? WOW! I was totally amazed.
I assured them that I had a GREAT time. Then, as I made my way to my bed, I thanked the Heavens for my good fortune.
The only negative result of that evening was that the rear floor of my dear Corvair was unknowingly damaged. It decided to fall-out one day while driving home from high school!
Those days are long gone. The ice cream stand still remains, but now as a private residence. The Espyville Beach, the Bowling Alley, and even friends of those days are vanished into memories. My Corvair? Well, we traded it for a snazzy Chevy SS during my high school senior year.
Although one can no longer drive through CLP, the Park has NOT disappeared. The summers are still filled with its sounds and tempting aromas.
AND RT 285? The gravel is long gone; but, the train tracks still remain. As I travel over them now, I remember fondly, that August evening so many years ago. I confess, that occasionally I stop and pull-over before crossing the tracks…and take a few moments to remember. Sometimes, as day melts into evening and I am outside our house, either in the garden or walking through our woods, I hear in the distance the sounds of a train’s calling-out…calling me back to those days and those memories.
How about you?