It’s all about the ride. Forget about waiting in line in nerve-wracked anticipation to get on it and the guise of regret when it comes to an end.  When I was a kid, my dad, Bill, used to goad me to ride the Sizzler with him at the Fair Haven Firemen’s Fair — that stupid amusement the sole purpose of which was to whip you around on the end of octopus-like tendrils ‘til you were sour-bellied, dizzy and scared. OK, I was a bow-legged, scrawny sissy. He would laugh that unmistakably hearty guffaw as I screamed and smashed into his side from its whipping force. You could say it was symbolic of the…