Nothing like a funky traveling carnival in a far off land. This was in a little town by the Caribbean Sea. The carnival assembled itself in the dark of the night, after the lightning-rod salesman scouted the perfect spot. The rides were sparse: a carousel, this rusted metal contraption, and an old bull. We paid our one-dollar to get our bright blue ticket for the ferris-wheel. Thing was, it wasn't really a ferris-wheel, it was more of a rusty trap of doom. The Panamanian carney locked us in the metal cage and started heaving our car round and round like a demented schoolyard bully. Then a kid, no older than 11, started up the motor and got the big wheel moving. It groaned and shook and spun at a velocity I didn't think was possible. The engine whined and we sucked in gasoline fumes as we smashed around inside our little sardine can- no restraining bar, no pads, just us tumbling around like shoes in a dryer. No way could this be legal in the States. We were laughing and trying not to die and laughing and trying not to vomit. No one else was in line, so that little kid just kept us spinning and spinning, while the carney smoked a cigar and whistled at the girls.
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