During the five years I worked as a metro columnist for a suburban Los Angeles newspaper, I cultivated an image as someone who really loved the L.A. Country Fair at the Fairplex in Pomona.
It ran for several weeks in September each year and I was out there several times a week to write about everything from concerts to various exhibits and competitions. When new ownership made budget cuts and took my column away, I really missed going to the Fair.
I haven’t been to a fair in 25 years, even though the Georgia State Fair is held every year at EchoPark Speedway less than 10 miles from where we live. But we’re giving serious consideration to going to one of the big ones this year, even though it’s more than 600 miles away.
Ironically, it was the first state fair I ever attended, each summer of my preteen years up through 1962.
Regular readers of this space know that I lived in Ohio from ages 3 to 13. My mother was born there and her parents lived there until they died at advanced ages. Three of my four siblings were born in Ohio as were all of my first cousins. One sister and two cousins have spent their lives there.
I don’t remember many details of my trips to Columbus for the Fair. Hey, it has been 64 years since the last time. The one thing I remember very vividly was riding for the first time on a roller coaster-type ride called the Wild Mouse.
It was compact, almost a cube, and was best at making quick 90-degree turns on the corners at the top.
It was tremendously scary and exciting when I was 12, and though roller coasters have become a much bigger deal in the years since with 360-degree loops, I still have fond memories of the Wild Mouse.
We generally only went once a year. My parents were much more art museum types than outdoor activity folks. And we lived about 50 miles from Columbus, so it wasn’t as if we could just go for a few hours in the evenings.
As for this summer, Nicole and I had been thinking about bigger vacations, either taking an Alaskan cruise or visiting her family in France, But once we decided not to do either of those in 2026, I started thinking about Ohio.
It has been 36 years since my last visit to the state where I spent much of my childhood, and it’s a straight 500-mile shot up Interstate 75 from here to Cincinnati and another 100 miles up to Columbus and the Fair on I-71.
Will we go? I don’t know yet. A 1,200-mile round trip is a lot at age 76, and the main purpose of the trip would be to see family members and old homes, not to go to the Fair. That would be the cherry on top of the sundae.
We’ll have to see.