Mecca

1990

I woke up early, wanting to play a little After Burner on Sega Genesis before having Cheerios. I was wearing Batman pajama's. I could get to the fourth level before dying, an accomplishment for a six year old who didn't have a gaming system at his home.

My mom and I were on vacation in Los Angeles, California. We were visiting my uncle in his apartment in Huntington Beach. He was still single. This was a big deal to me because the notorious big screen TV that projected my Mach 3 forays into enemy aviation combat was still in the living room. After the marriage three years later, the TV would be moved to the garage, a not-so-fun place for a kid to hang out in, especially when the uncle had no other children inspiring him to spruce the garage up into a play area.

I remember my mom dressing me up in a Hawaiian button up shirt and blue khaki shorts. I had a typical early 90's hat, complete with pastel orange, pink, and green colors. We were going to a very special place that day.

We were going to Disneyland. My mom and me.

I had never been on any rollercoaster before. Never been to an amusement park save for the Wisconsin State Fair midway where I did the minor circular kiddie rides and fun houses. I remember being completely intrigued with rollercoasters, watching them on TV. I was really itching to go on one, but nothing that extreme.

The first ride we went on was immediately off of Main Street in Tomorrowland. Star Tours. I had seen Star Wars on TV, and was completely taken by the animatronic C-3PO and R2D2 representations. I didn't believe they were there (one of the perks of going with small children to Disney parks is that they believe they are actually seeing Mickey, going into space, shrinking down to a centimeter in size to go into a body to find a splinter, etc.), but I was loving every minute of it. The simulator itself blew me away. I really enjoyed it.

It was a precursor, a pre-staging, for one of the most influential moments of my life. My mom said, "Let's do Space Mountain!" I said, "What's that?" She pointed to a funny looking building down the pathway. "You'll like it."

That's all she said. "Is it scary?" I asked.

"No."

We rode an escalator up into a queue area. It was early in the morning, so the line wasn't very long. I remember blindingly going along with my mom through spaceship hallways. I remember catching a glimpse of the loading area and realizing that it was a rollercoaster. I said to my mom, "You said this wouldn't be scary!"

"Just try it."

So I did.

I remember being strapped in between my mom's legs, and going into the lift hill area. Lights beamed everywhere. I was terrified. But in a good way.

That happy terror turned to complete and utter confusion as we went into the mountain, the main rollercoaster area. Inside the funny building is a rollercoaster completely in the dark, save for projections of stars and asteroids moving around and around the outer walls and track supports. The ride glided along, then dropped violently.

It was at this point that I lose track of memory. I remember being angry, I remember not being afraid but more thrilled. I was still scared, to some degree, but I knew I would live. It was an intense ride.

My first rollercoaster was Space Mountain. A ride completely in the dark, surprising you with drops you never knew were there. Thanks Mom.

We got off the ride, and I remember being really angry with her. "You said it wasn't scary!" I yelled. "I didn't know, Peter," she replied.

Anyone who knows me knows that this attribute of my mom, playfully bullshitting people to go along with an experience like Space Mountain, or any other fun but uncomfortable situation, has been instilled in me. I credit Space Mountain to be the main instigator of this attribute.

I made her promise to not take me on any other rollercoasters. She said fine.

We rode the now defunct People Mover, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, the Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Carribean (more drops in the dark), the train, It's a Small World, Jungle Cruise.

The ride that stands out as the one that started it all, the obsession with theme parks, my love of presentation through immersive experiences, acting, telling stories through theater and music, Patch . . . was Big Thunder Mountain Railroad.

My mom wanted to go on this one. I immediately said, "NO! No rollercoasters!" She said, "It's not in the dark, you can see where you're going. Try it." I looked at it.

It looked awesomely terrifying. I had to try it. Even then, I knew that I really really wanted to like this machine that intrigued me so much from television specials. I wanted to triumph over it.

It was the greatest ride of my life. Might still be, in that it was the most important ride of my life. I loved every second of it. The hills, the theme, the caves. It was intense, but not too intense. I grasped it.



I was done for. A good chunk of my personality was bred from this ride. Sounds corny, but it's true.

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2009

Today I visited Disneyland for the third time in my life. I went there by myself, taking it all in at my leisure. I had some Patch business I wanted to talk about with the band and I waited until I was in line for Big Thunder Mountain to do it. A kind of homage to where a lot of the influence started. It was bittersweet.

And Space Mountain, riding it at 25 now instead of 6, might be the better ride overall. It takes your breath away. And the Imagineers have outfitted the trains with music speakers to have a soundtrack along with the ride. They've redone the track to make it less bumpy and have more hills. It's a fantastic ride.

A good day. A good day, indeed.

Tape Deck Mountain -- "In the Dirt"