Do you hear that sound? It can’t be, right? Not yet.Â
And yet, there it is, the sound of the alarm that signals the impending end of the long, lazy, languorous days of summer. The sound of the opening, on Friday, of the Canadian National Exhibition.
It’s the click-click-click-click-click of a roller-coaster car being tugged up to the crest of a hill, and the WHOOOOOOM of it coming back down the other side.Â
It’s the clackclackclack clackclack clack … clack of a Crown and Anchor wheel. The barking “Just a buck to try your luck, get in here to win here” of the operator. The synth notes of the 1984 instrumental “Axel F” that is somehow still the soundtrack of that launch-a-frog game.
It’s the restless hum of the crowds in line, pierced by the delighted (and sometimes terrified) shrieks of those on the rides. The music overheard in passing from cover bands playing at beer gardens and nostalgia acts playing the bandshell. The all-consuming rolling thunder of the air show.
It’s more than just sounds, of course, the place is sensory overload. It’s the sights of blinking lights and X-eyed clowns and funhouse mirrors. It’s the smells of Tiny Tom doughnuts and popcorn and the Horse Palace. It’s the feeling of butterflies in your belly on the high-up rotating swings, the warmth that washes over your whole body when your summer sweetheart leans into you as the ride turns a corner, the pure giddy joy in your heart while watching your own children experience the kiddie midway. It’s the feeling of absolute befuddlement that comes from trying to figure out why anyone would buy a hot tub at the Ex.Â
And it’s the tastes. The weirdo novelty foods that always grab everyone’s attention (wasabi ice-cream and deep-fried Oreo-pickle sandwiches this year, apparently), but also the classics that stick with you: The tang of mustard on a corn dog, the almost unbearable sweetness of cotton candy, the layered perfection of cold ice cream sandwiched between hot waffles, the bare threshold of edibility reached by 99-cent spaghetti.
It’s all of that, and more — a set of sensations that many Torontonians experience all at once in memory whenever the great old civic fair opens again (this year for the 145th time).Â
There’s a lot to love. But if most of us are being honest, it’s a complicated emotional tangle. Because you’ve got that nostalgia rushing over you for all those previous visits at different times in your life, and for the person you were and the way you felt back then. And you’ve got that flutter of excitement about what you’re looking forward to when you visit this year.
But you’ve also got that sense of dread.
Because every Torontonian knows that every year — as certain as death, taxes and Toronto traffic — the Ex means it’s almost time to go back to school. They might as well hand out three-ring binders at the exit gates. The fair opens in what always seems like the middle of summer, and runs for 18 days — two weeks plus a long weekend — and then, boom: kids are back in school the very next day. And that means something more than just pencils, books and teacher’s dirty looks. Even those of us whose days in classrooms are far behind us, and even those of us without school kids at home, feel the change of season. September means the time for loafing and laughing is over. It’s time to get back to the grind.
Every year when the Ex opens, Torontonians think: surely, it can’t be that time yet?Â
And yet listen: there it is.Â
The thundering, thumping bass of this year’s biggest pop song blasting from the sound system of the Polar Express, maybe the CNE’s most iconic midway ride, as the crowds line up and the carnies run around checking lap bars and the riders arrange themselves awkwardly by weight so as not to be crushed in the excitement. And the deejay-from-central-casting voice of the ride operator booms, “Hey kids, do you wanna go faster? Then let me hear you screeeam reeeeeeeal loud!”
And part of you thinks it’s already going too fast. The ride, sure. The fleeting days summer. The passing years.Â
But another, more urgent part you knows that if you cannot slow it down, you might as well enjoy it while it lasts. So, what the heck, you raise your arms and screeeam reeeeeeeal loud. And then the circular backwards momentum of the ride kicks into overdrive, and the air is filled with the wail of a siren.Â
That siren! It means it’s almost over. Almost, but not yet. Because it also means that right now is the most thrilling part. The part where you forget everything and hold on tight and grin and enjoy it. Staying seated and strapped in and holding tight, until the ride comes to a complete stop.
