On a hot summer day on the outskirts of town the only thing to
do back in 1980 was to make plans to hang out with your friends as
often as possible.
On a hot summer day on the outskirts of town the only thing to do back in 1980 was to make plans to hang out with your friends as often as possible. We rode our bikes along fence lines and zig-zagged down dirt driveways dodging pot holes and kicking up dust. We rode up and down Jean Ellen Drive, Parish View and Geri Lane until we had been shoo’d out of every kitchen in the neighborhood.
There were no computers or game boys to play with. We always played outside, making light sabers out of the long shoots of bamboo that grew behind my garage or pretending to be Ponch and John on our bikes. We built tree forts.
After a while we’d get bored of these things and someone would get brave and suggest a bike ride that was farther than a trip to another neighbor’s house. The very suggestion of such a long ride on a day like this brought groans of resistance. But after thinking about it, and knowing the ultimate reward awaiting us at our final destination, we decided to go for it and began packing the necessities for this two-mile trip to “The Rock.”
Back in 1980, this was a swimming hole on Watsonville Road marked by a huge rock. Most of Watsonville Road was a tree lined meandering two lane road, but as you got closer to Burchell Road, it widened and on the west side was The Rock and a small, flat, worn out spot in the dirt in front of it from years and years of people parking cars there. This clearing was just big enough for the school bus to turn around there, so we were all familiar with its location.
The Rock was not a secret place. It was not fenced off and there were no buildings in the area. The swimming hole was totally accessible from several foot paths leading from the clearing. The Rock itself was so massive that it was not only visible from the street, but also was a hand hold as you climbed down the main trail to the creek below.
A new energy was in the air as we began assembling the necessities. We would need a couple of squirt bottles, some ammonia, and rope. After rummaging through several kitchens (avoiding mothers who would ask questions) we managed to assemble a few bottles filled with a potent mixture of water and ammonia. This was an important weapon. This was how country kids on bikes defended themselves from unleashed ranch dogs that chase bicycles. Not everyone had a bottle so we paired off with those who didn’t … to protect them. It was the honorable thing to do and the kid who had the bottle was forevermore looked upon as a hero if it was actually used to fend off a snarling dog. I have to tell you it was a little scary trying to pump your pedals as fast as you can, uphill, in the heat, while being chased by Cujo and trying to aim that toxic water in a dogs face while keeping yourself between the dog and the kid you’ve been designated to protect. But somehow we lived through it and not once did we turn back because of dogs.
The Rock was a welcomed sight as we approached it. Hot and thirsty we dropped our bikes and scampered for foot trails, not stopping to admire the bowl shaped holes worn down into the top of the Rock. We had all been told the stories of Indians grinding corn there. Getting to the water was of the highest priority and with some luck the old rope swing would still be there hanging intact, but just in case, we brought one. Thinking back on it now I can still hear the shrieks and laughter as we swung out over the water and dropped down, splashing and grinning from ear to ear. I learned how to skip stones there. I remember that day and my friend Rob teaching me how to find the right stone and toss it just so.
When the day was done and our stomachs were growling, we mounted our bikes in soaking wet cut off jeans and began pedaling home. It was a good day.
If you were born and raised here, you know what The Rock is. If you’re new here, it’s also knows as Chictactac-Adams County Park, but I wouldn’t rush out there in swim trunks, I’m sure the rope swing is long gone.
