THAT (that) wrote,

The Graveyard of Fun: Krazy Acres (Thompson, Illinois)

Motorcycling up the Great River Road between the Quad Cities and Dubuque, I stumbled across one of my favorite things: an abandoned amusement park. In this case, a small, local operation, so no rusting skeletons of roller coasters, which dialed down the Decrepit Creepiness, but there was a mini-golf course overrun with weeds, which compensated with extra Bland Sadness.

Talk about staying out of the rough... you get off the fairway here and you're going to need a new ball.

Can you hear the ghostly crackle of recorded calliope music through the rusted speaker, the buzzing of lights long dead?

A rotting wooden clown with golf ball-stealing holes in his face.  It's like he's saying, "Come, little ones, see the nothingness behind my decaying aspect." 

The clown is the most exciting hole on the course by a mile.  Maybe if the festoonery had been a little more wacky they would have survived as a business.

Nah, probably not.

Ah, a maze.  What's more fun than getting lost?

Have your CARD, kids, because you pay MONEY for the card, see, and that's how we finance this Taj Mahal of jollity.  Plywood ain't free, shortstack.

NO, you can't leave this way.  I don't care how hungry or tired you are.  Go find the right way out or die trying.

Help!  I'm lost!  This is so much fun!

I think this is what behavioral scientists call a "token economy".

Well, that's pretty anticlimactic.  The plants started getting in before I could get out.

Despite this sad sidewalk admonition, (okay, actually it says "stay back"), it's time for me to go.  There are other crumbling places to discover, other mausoleums of cheap commercial amusement to dig out from under the weeds.   Goodbye, Krazy Acres.

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened