I LIKE FAIRS, AND I DON’T CARE. I don’t care that some folks see state and county fairs as old-fashioned, or stale, or costly, hot, and unhealthy. I don’t even mind that it’s all true. Fairs do have a long heritage, and they do repeat their exhibits year after year on hot summer days for profit, and the fast food is as unhealthy inside the fair as it is outside the fair, and I love it all.

No matter how grumpy one may be before going, or how tired one may be after returning, one usually has fun once they get to the fair.

We went as a family to the California State Fair a few weeks ago, three generations of us. We all wanted to go, but each generation had a concern before going. The grandkids fretted that it would be boring and they’d be stuck doing adult stuff, the adult kids worried about the cost, and we fogey grandparents were concerned with the heat.

However, once we reached the fairgrounds, we solved everyone’s problems by paying for all the tickets and wearing hats. Once the kids got on rides and we all ate corn dogs in the shade, everyone was happy at the fair.

A big change in this year’s fair is the significant increase in shade. New shady rest and dining areas have been added all around the grounds. Another big improvement this year is the augmentation of the county exhibits. Touring them has always been a bittersweet highlight of our annual visit. We look forward to it. We like learning of California’s bounty. Yet, we are always dismayed at the repetitive, dusty, dull exhibits with uninspired backdrops, hokey spinning barrels, waving mannequins, and plastic fruit.

This year organizers made special visits to all the counties to encourage participation and transformation. As a result, three more counties joined the exhibits, bringing the total to 27. Displays were spruced up. Everyone updated, and they all manifested a prevailing theme — agriculture and “Farm to Fork” food and beverage. It was called “Our farm to your table.”

We did the same annual rounds. We walked through the livestock area, petted a few, and watched a cow birthing. We wandered through the gadget booths listening to venders pitch their wares. We even bought a little table-top mesh tent to keep bugs off our food while camping.

We walked through the buildings displaying art, architecture, and chickens, admired the high-school robotics exhibits, and briefly watched a hypnotist entertain the crowd at the outside stage, nothing special, nothing unusual, just good fair fun.

Last weekend marked the Solano County Fair. We went as a family again. This time the mood had shifted. No one expressed any regrets or reservations about going. We had been properly conditioned by Cal Expo to know what to expect and learn from mistakes.

The big mistake at the state fair was buying individual ride tickets. Expensive! At the Solano Fair, I bought $25 wrist bands for all three of my grandsons and we did the rides first, while the lines were short.

Actually, except for a few quick strolls around the other attractions, we stayed with the rides all day. I made a promise to the boys. “I will let you ride all day until you are tired. I will not make you stop early. I don’t care how long it takes. I’m in a marathon mood, so let’s get started.”

We arrived before the fair opened at noon, and we stayed for eight hours. Six of those hours were spent on rides. We got a brief respite after the older boys rode the Crazy Train, which spins while it loops while it circles. That got them nauseated enough that we got to break and visit the livestock for a while.

The night ended with the youngest, River, worn out and gone home with his parents, and the oldest, Tyler, too full of junk and gunk to dare spinning on any more rides. Only little Jack, the ride master, was left. “Papa,” he said. “You have to ride with me now. I can’t go alone on most of the rides.”

So, I sucked it up and got onboard the Scrambler, the Himalaya, the Tilt-a-Whirl, said “Hell no!” to the Gravitron and the Crazy Train, and then we found ourselves in line at the Viper. That is where our night ended.

When our turn came, Jack’s wristband was so shredded, wrinkled, and torn that the ride conductor refused to let him on, even though the ticket-sales people had also stamped his wrist in addition to giving him a wrist band.

The employee didn’t speak a word of English except for “No.” He just said “No.” I showed him the wristband was still firmly attached to Jack’s wrist. It was just beat up after seven hours. “No.” I pointed to the ticket stamp inked on his forearm. “No.” I pulled out the receipt from my shirt pocket and showed him the $75 total. “No.” By then 20 people had formed in the line behind us, so we bowed out.

“I guess this is as good a time as any to call it quits,” said Jack.

Steve Gibbs teaches at Benicia High School and has written a column for The Herald since 1985.