Ohio and Beyond! (part 3)

Mike and I are not big fast food eaters. When we do go, we like to support local chains, like Burgerville. When we travel though, we cast off these schackles and try to check off chains that simply aren’t found back home.

This is how we came to find ourselves in one of the strangest places on our trip: a White Castle, for dinner en route to Cedar Point from Lancaster. We were told after returning that you only go to White Castle when you are drunk. That may only take care of the mediocre food. Even if you are drunk, please promise me you’ll never go INSIDE a White Castle.

The first thing that caught our eye was the vast expanse of bulletproof glass securing the White Castle serving wenches behind the counter. Let me tell you, we were not in any “ghetto” as would be defined by us. In fact, this location was nestled in what appeared to be a relatively new strip of pure American suburbia. Perhaps it is a White Castle standard: a sort of modern version of a drawbridge, in keeping with the theme. Next in line to baffle our senses was the track of mildly eerie Medieval court music piped into the dining room that perhaps comprised 30 seconds of music on continuous loop. I could probably hum a close enough approximation of it to this day. After all, I had plenty of time to memorize it since there must exist a correlation between the size of the burger (if you don’t know what a White Castle Burger is, click on the link) and the amount of time it takes to make it. Mystifying scientists everywhere, the smaller a burger is, the more prep time is needed.   Every fast food joint will place their priority on drive-thru customers versus walk-in, I understand that. But while the line of cars steadily rounded the outside of the building, we were made to wait at least ten minutes for these square oddities.

As for the food itself…I would give it a resounding “meh”, yet that makes it sound like I care about it more than I do. The music may not have been forgettable, but the food sure was. Nothing was “bad” per se, but I now understand the utility it provides to drunk people – it’s cheap, it’s moderately greasy, and if you go through the drive-thru, it’s quick (wait, what are drunk people doing driving?). Having a small slider of a burger is totally fine. But, I don’t understand having a patty of meat so thin that a penny on its side would dwarf it. With great indifference, we checked White Castle off of our list. For good.

From this cheap American institution, we traveled a couple of hours to another: the Super 8 in Milan, about twenty minutes south of Sandusky. For the extra commute to Cedar Point, the per night price was half of what one would pay in Sandusky itself. The next time you talk to him, give Mike a hearty pat on the back for the trouble he went to in order to convince me to stay at a Super 8. I readily admit that I can be a total snob, especially when it comes to where I’m laying my head at night. I don’t require 1000-count sheets or marble floors (I won’t exactly turn those away, either). I would just rather not find out that the hotel room capacity has been exceeded due to a colony of bedbugs snuggling with me overnight. That said, I have no idea why I attached a preconceived stigma to Super 8, having never stayed at one. The Milan property received solid reviews on TripAdvisor.com and Hotels.com and between that reassurance, the price, and Mike’s insistence, I agreed to give it a try.

And of course, the property was perfectly fine - considering the price, the value was extraordinary. I did (sadly) run around the room trying to look for things to complain about, but came up pretty empty handed. The only significant complaint is that the quality of the towels definitely took a nosedive compared to other hotels, although you may disagree if you enjoy a towel that not only dries but exfoliates at the same time. The breakfast was nothing special, with coffee a notch or two better than the Holiday Inn Express, but less options for solid sustenance. Cereal was the best route to take. The breakfast room’s clientele was a half and half mix of amusement park thrill-seekers and what Mike and I deemed, “The Salt of the Earth” – rough and tumble types that growled over their coffee and effortlessly exuded the hardworking spirit of the American mid-west. Joe the Plumber is a cheap knock-off of the real thing.

This leads me to my new hotel/motel truism: Never Judge a Brand by Name Alone. Lodging properties are franchised and individually managed. If a property is managed by someone who cares about their business and their guests, even the cheapest of the name-brands will be a clean, comfortable experience. Based on online reviews, many top-tier hotels can often find themselves ranking lower in the pile due to poor management and upkeep. I believe the only thing that a brand name can guarantee is a set of standardized amenities throughout the brand’s properties. But there is not a fancy mattress in the world that will magically clean the sheets resting upon it, nor a rain-shower shower head that will wash away mold on its own.

Monday was Cedar Point day, so of course we woke up to rain. It was a light drip when I looked out the window the first time, turning into a downpour by the time Mike looked out the window. On the entire drive to Cedar Point, with wipers going full speed, I kept repeating to myself, “The forecast called for showers, this is only a shower…a really long shower…”. What if the park was closed? We’d have to detour to…Cleveland. I repeated my shower statement again. The park was open and everyone must have been repeating the mantra, since everyone was coatless and wearing shorts. C’mon, through the collective power of the crowd, we WILL beat the rain back!

This became harder to believe as we stood outside a souvenir booth, waiting for a poncho, so sopping wet that even my grey shirt had become see-through. Once we were both bedecked in gaudy blue tarps (only five bucks each, which impressed me as I expected some opportunistic price gouging), we could at least wander the park in comfort, if not style. All of the coasters were shut down, but lines were beginning to form at some of them regardless. The optimism of the people finally won the day as the rain lightened and then vanished.

By then, we were at the back of the park and in line for an already open roller-coaster, The Mean Streak, where we encountered Coaster Girl in line behind us. Coaster Girl was terrified. Her friend had dragged her into line and she spent the entire twenty minutes repeating how afraid she was. We played the part of Coaster Evangelicals, reassuring her that once she had tried it, there would be no going back, but she would never know if she didn’t make that leap. Post-coaster, we’re happy to report that she is now part of the flock! It was a day of miracles – we vanquished the rain, and witnessed a conversion. Our reward may not be heaven, but it must at least be a funnel cake. Hallelujah!

The next conquest was the Maverick, which is the newest coaster in the park. This was Mike’s favorite, and my second favorite. Ride it here, though it doesn’t really do it justice:

 

My favorite was probably the Millennium Force, which scored points simply for being really freaking tall. I think at the top of this thing I had just gotten out “Oh, the lake is really pret…” before my stomach was in my mouth for the drop. Isn’t this nice, no lines for you readers:

 

For lunch, we were able to put another check on our fast food chain list after eating at the in-park Chick-fil-A. If you ever end up in a situation where there is nothing to choose from save for a White Castle or a Chick-fil-A, first of all, what hell have you stumbled into?! And second of all, please choose the Chick-fil-A. It’s simple, quite tasty, and they have waffle fries. That alone would earn them the win.

The star of the park is undoubtedly the Top Thrill Dragster, the first coaster to ever break the 400 foot barrier. The stats you need to know – after the ride launches, you reach 120mph in 4 seconds, go up a 90 degree incline, twist, crest the top, twist again and come back down at 90 degrees before screeching to crawl. It is over in 17 seconds. Now for the shame: we did not ride it! Initially I did not think I had the nerve to take on the Dragster, but around mid-day we both were committed to riding it. By the time we rounded back to it in the early evening, however, the humidity and other rides had taken their collective toll on us. I had a headache (that actually would stay with me in varying intensity for the next week) and we were both just done.

Even if you don’t ride, one can revel in the terror of others. There is plenty of viewing space in front of where the coaster sits before launch. There was praying, heavy controlled breathing, shut eyes, wide eyes, nervous laughter and ivory knuckles. All reactions pretty much coalesced into a group “Oh *#@!” as the car launched, quickly followed by the severe contortion of flesh (I think some people’s lips ended up wrapped around their ears).

If the description of the ride hasn’t already triggered some in-boot quivering, then take a look at the video below. It depicts an infrequent “rollback” in which, due to various factors, the car does not crest the hill. Safety mechanisms are in place to bring it back to a secure stop, and some super-fans of the coaster actually *hope* for these rollbacks.

For dinner we were lazy and ate at the restaurant on the hotel property, called Four Monks, which specialized in Italian. Reasonable prices (made even more reasonable with a hotel discount) and a nice, no frills take on Italian. If you’re really curious, this review is a good write-up and reflects our experience rather well.

The days ahead will see us escape Ohio’s luster, for destinations east!  Stay tuned!