There hadn't been time to go back home and get the pickup truck when Delores Peters father bought the whirly ride and so the man who sold it threw in a ball hitch as part of the bargain and then helped him balance the load of the Mercury using blocks of wood to shim the shot springs. The ride was surprisingly compact on its trailer. The blue cars stored up on end like cupcakes, the curves of their metal pitted and scarred from being painted over where it had been chipped. The spider legs folded like a pocket knife when their bolts were loosened. The engine and the upright brake were bolted to the trailer together with a folding metal stool where the operator could sit to take tickets or run the ride.
The ride ran on either 220 or 440 power and had a noisy gas powered generator for when there was no power available, although the generator roared so bad it made the ride unpleasant and sometimes stalled or spewed black smoke which tended to frighten children. Delores Peters' father paid nine hundred dollars cash for the whirly ride in 1965. He was a farmer and his credit was good and the bank in Crystal Beach lent him the cash on his word. It was something you could take from fair to fair or just set up on its own for children to ride.
There hadn't been time to go home for the pickup yet he and the stranger went into town to get the loan and the cash. For an awful moment after the stranger drove off, Delores Peters' father feared that he had been fooled and his stomach felt hollow from the beer, the sunshine, and the dusty stone parking lot. But the ride ran just right when he got it home and he was able to set it up without much trouble although it hadn't come with any directions but the fading scalloped snapshot.