Every weekend before Easter, my grandfather, Perry Oliver, would take me to the lake to prepare the go-carts for operation that upcoming summer. My earliest memory was using a paint brush and can of gas to clean the oil and grime away from the engines.
Afterwards, I was allowed to paint a cart red, blue or yellow — all the while being warned by Grandpa of those “cowlicks”! (That was the name he had given the many Velvet ants crawling around enjoying the spring weather.)
During the season, I loved sitting in the ticket booth with Grandpa Oliver sipping on 10-ounce Pepsi or Mountain Dews watching the riders go round and round the track.
Among many adventures, I was with him at Spell Burger, the glass bottom boat, or just riding around the lake, or helping him around the cottage. It was a kid’s dream. If only it would have lasted forever.
Now as an adult, every time I smell cedar, I become emotional as all those memories come flooding back. Oh, how I miss my youth and those Perry Oliver White Lake days.
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