Slime Slidin'

In those days, we went up Hicks Road at twilight in the summer, before the evening chill had a chance settle in, and enjoyed sliding down the face of the Guadalupe dam. The concrete was covered with slippery green algae and moss, fed by a constant trickle to the pool at the bottom. You had to wear jeans for your butt, cut-off so they wouldn’t get soggy and heavy. Hands in the air, rocking back, heedless, with maybe a holler on the way down. If you were skillful, or lucky, you could skip like a stone when you reached the pool. Or just crash and roll. There was a thrill that went beyond just the ride; it was the joy of youth and of freedom to do as you pleased. It was cruising up Hicks in Johnny A’s Dodge convertible, top down, Cokes and smokes, nobody there to stop us; expecting excitement.

We were in some of the prettiest hills on earth. We took that for granted; the smells, too, of bay laurel and manzanita baked all day, cooling in the fine evening air.

Doug Pulling