Kings Island in July 2020 via 35mm Film

I’ve always loved Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay”—the low key melody, the subtle emotion in Redding’s voice, and how it all fades out with that melancholic whistle. I’m in no way ashamed to say that I learned of the song due to its cameo in Top Gun. As a kid, I knew it was there in the background of one of the film’s romantic scenes. As an adult, I’ve twice purchased digital copies of the soundtrack while drinking. Track No. 11 of the 1999 expanded edition is truly the standout.

If I ever had a “Dock of the Bay” moment of my own, one where I felt the deepest connection to those lonely lyrics of “nothing’s gonna come my way”—it was at an amusement park in the summer of 2020. There was no rolling tide, but I was just steps away from a thrill ride that had originally been designed as a tribute to the aforementioned 1986 fighter pilot film.

35mm photographs made with a Pentax K1000 and Kodak Portra 800 at Kings Island Amusement Park on July 17, 2020:

*“The Bat,” a ride that was once called “Top Gun.”*

I don’t work at this place anymore. It’s been years. But when I first got here—the park was still under its movie studio owners, the ones who had turned a Tom Cruise film into a theme park attraction. They eventually left and I stuck around for several seasons under the new operators. After many summers of supervising rides and a few winters of cleaning roller coaster wheel bearings, I found myself managing a quarter of the park’s ride crews.

My days usually began with a cigarette. I’d squash the last stub of tobacco and then do a lap from one end to the other, checking in with employees as they got things ready. If all had gone well, I’d end my patrol at the park’s classic, original wooden coaster for a solitary ride over the imperfect structure and its fading white paint. I’d listen to the sound of the lift hill chain, seated in a train I had once helped to repair, and take in the early view: two perfectly symmetrical circuits of track against a background of foliage and fog from the nearby river. Eventually this place would be abysmally hot, crowded, and hectic—but during those morning rides on “The Racer,” I felt fulfilled. The later parts of those shifts could vary between great and awful, but at the end of each one, I’d always find myself back near that coaster at some point—cigarette once again in hand, watching the trains run their course in the setting sun or along the blinking bulbs that lined the course.

*The Racer as seen from the park’s Eiffel Tower observation deck.*

I loved that job. I loved this park. And none of it is an affection only viewed through rose-colored glasses. I’ve thought about this a lot. Written about it. Reflected on it. And I’m doing that again—here and now with a notebook in hand while sipping some overpriced beers in the summer sun on a patio by a man made pond.

“Wastin’ time.”