It's Carnival Time

After a 26 mile bike ride in the morning with Steve and his dad, we sat chatting in his parent's back yard for a while without realizing how quickly the time was passing by, as good times always do. It was all too soon when I had to dash home to grab my camera and meet Richard down at the Prince William Fair in Manassas. I'd been wanting to attend this event for a couple of years, as the carnival area was a lot bigger than other local fairs, and they had newer rides, which meant better brighter lights.
I managed to get parked really close to the entrance which was a pure fluke, because I'd peeled off from the slow moving vehicles in front of me as they tangled their way across the bumpy uneven field, and just took a chance that I'd find a space that someone had vacated, and I did. As one car pulled out to leave I whipped in, thanking my lucky stars that I'd been so fortunate.

 I started making a bee line for the carnival rides once I was through the gate, but then a rich baritone voice singing Elvis songs came belting from a tent, and I had to investigate. An Elvis tribute artist called Lionel Ward was now strutting back and forth, talking to the audience, saying, "We're doing things you wouldn't believe.' I had no idea what he was referring to but looking at him I thought, 'And you're wearing things I wouldn't believe.' He really was something to observe but he exuded so much self confidence that by the time he starting singing again, I was entranced. His voice was superb and he worked the audience like the true pro he was, the guys included. I stood watching for 3 songs, my foot tapping and humming along, but the screams from the rides kept catching my attention and I had to move on. Here's a sample of Lionel here.
I walked across the grass and was soon extremely glad that I'd come while it was still light. There was a large grassy area in the middle which I soon discovered was a great way to get from ride to ride without battling through the throngs of people. But then I also realized why few of the folks were using it themselves. Large boggy swampy areas were dotted about, with no rhyme or reason as to why they were there. But they smelled awful and I was mighty glad I hadn't stumbled blindly into one when it was dark. There were no lights to illuminate the mud but I learned very quickly the routes to take as I constantly cut back and forth behind the crowds.

  I'm not usually a fan of the harsh LED lights but I was attracted to this ride, The Hydra. The colors changed constantly and it was possible to walk behind a tent and then stand directly underneath the action as the howling participants were slung up in the air over my head and then plummeted to earth immediately afterwards, all the while spinning around. There was a rather pleasant breeze as well when they swooshed over the top of my head. I spent as much time just watching and grinning as I did taking photos, my head arching forward and back with the motion.

 The Big Wheel was a bit blah as I stood observing it, tiny LED lights flashing in a gaudy unspectacular manner on a huge frame but I did find that using a long exposure on my camera brought out more interesting patterns.

 This Bozo guy was pure talent. Stuck in a cage, he taunted everyone with continuous comments, funny, insulting, sarcastic, but always hilarious. Until he got dunked into water by someone hitting the target. It only happened once while I was watching and I was astounded to actually find myself feeling sorry for him as he went suddenly silent while dropping into the tank. But within seconds he had sprinted back up to his seat and was jeering at the spectators again as though nothing had happened. As soon as he saw me pointing my camera he yelled, "I see you taking pictures. Does seeing a guy behind bars remind you of your ex husband?" It actually didn't but I still howled at his cheek. I left him, his raucous cackling following me as I headed back to The Hydra.

I kept coming back to this ride, loving the thrill we spectators got by standing so close to it. I messed about with long exposures again while Richard and his friend stood watching the riders. We were able to get really close to the action, even able to rest elbows on the flooring of the ride,  and I fully expected a shout from the operator to tell us to move away, but it never came. Check out the dude in the ground level shot, busy on his cell phone, and paying no attention to the experience whatsoever. What a boring life he must lead.

I love the booths dotted around the carnival. their old fashioned signs displaying corn dogs and fried dough, both of which I dislike intensely, but I still like the smells and watching others fill their faces with sugary treats, especially the kids, who eat the stuff like they've been starved for 3 months. Watching them trying to shoot a target or catch a duck always makes me chuckle too, their faces screwed up in deep concentration as they work on their tasks, likely more dedication here than their schoolbooks. Richard caught a shot of me taking a photo of the two wonderful ladies above, while I also captured another lady, obviously very unimpressed with the 5 second delay we must have caused.

 As I was starting to play around more with photos, trying new ways to take long exposures, some very large drops of rain fell on my head. I looked up thinking it may have come from one of the rides but their intensity increased until suddenly it was a deluge. I snatched my camera, still attached to the tripod and ran for cover under one of the booths. Thankfully the rain was pouring straight down and the narrow canopy above my head sheltered me and a few others. We all huddled together watching others scurry back and forth trying to escape from being soaked. Within a couple of minutes the open spaces were completely empty, everyone under booths or tents or pressed up against food trucks. The black tarmac shimmered from the fairground lights that were still blinking resolutely. I took just a couple of shots but then had to pack away my gear, the rain looked like it was stopping for a while. Thunder grumbled in the distance and I saw a lightning bolt streak on the horizon. It was time to go, and it seemed many of the crowds were thinking the same thing. The Big Wheel turned slowly letting people get off and I assumed the rides were now going to be stopped for the night. I walked back towards the car, running from food truck to canopy until I was near the exit and heard a familiar crooning.
Lionel was still performing, this time in a white jumpsuit, thankfully with a lot of well placed tassels hanging in front, and still holding his audience captive. I stopped to watch for a while, pleased to hear he was going to return next year. I think that next year I may just sit on a bench and stop a while. But tonight I was grateful that my car was near the exit, and within minutes I was driving down a shiny wet Rte 66, singing Hound Dog.