California trip: scooters in the sloughs

My childhood home is nestled into the far southwest corner of the US, just blocks from the ocean to the west and the Tijuana Estuary to the south, with walking paths all the way up to the rivermouth and across to the ocean. 

See those mountains in the foggy background? That's Mexico.

This nature preserve, which we have always called the sloughs (rhymes with snooze), was our favorite destination for bike rides, and later became my favorite shortcut for jogging to and from the beach in highschool. It turns out, it's also a great place for a scooter ride.

Before we went on the scooter ride, Gabriel said there was absolutely no stinkin' way he'd drive one of my dad's mobility scooters. But then Liam had a meltdown and insisted that he needed to ride on Daddy's lap. Once Gabriel learned that the new scooter has a turbo speed, well, let's just say that he had no problem zipping around.

The scooters are off-road ready, officially for my dad to navigate the construction sites he visits as a building inspector, but they also get plenty of use at the grocery store and the daily rides to the sloughs with his three dogs.

Our trip t the beach was a family ride: with my dad leading the way on one scooter and Gabriel and Liam following close behind on another. Molly and I walked with River snug on my back in the Ergo carrier. We left the dogs at home.

Once we reached Seacoast Boulevard, Gabriel and Liam hopped off the scooter to walk the sandy shore down to the pier. Molly saw this as her opportunity for what Liam has dubbed Tia Molly tricks. Go, Molly, go!

I am not ashamed to admit that I took my turn on the scooter. That turbo speed is a lot fun, if not a bit dangerous for the crowded sidewalks on the morning of the 4th of July. At one point, Liam grabbed the throttle, and things went fast. Luckily, we didn't hit anyone, but I shrieked and hollered until we came to a stop.You can see how pleased he was with the slower driving speed...

  

Sandwiched between my back and the comfy headrest, River snoozed away the bumpy ride back to the house.

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Being in the sloughs reminded me of a poem I wrote in college. It's bittersweet. The looking back.

Preservation

We used to go on bike rides in the sloughs,

Three blocks from home

between the helicopter field, the ocean, and

the border. Papa reminded us to stay on the bike trails,

out of the cactus beds and sugar cane bogs.

Do you remember the duck pond? Filled

with rain water and reeds. How Forest

wanted to jump in to catch them:

Duh-Duh he’d say, and we slid down the sides, our toes

in the muddy edge, holding his overall straps.

At the end of the trail,

where the dirt turned into sand and the river into ocean,

we gathered curlicue shells and chased sandpipers,

but we stayed out of the water,

always polluted.

And then there was the decaying golden retriever

on the other side of the sage. We always checked on it. First

it was only sleeping and then

it was yellow fur and bones. We never touched it.

And we didn’t touch the clothes the aliens left behind.

Do you remember them? The illegal aliens

in between our houses at night, hiding from the border patrol.

The dogs barked,

and Papa kept a gun in his room.

Do you remember the rain, when the sloughs flooded

and some of the aliens drowned?

Do you remember when Papa brought home the newspaper from 7-11:

Mr. Carey the lifeguard pulling a dead hand out of the dark water?

Do you remember when Papa brought some of their clothes

home and washed them? When we were on welfare,

after his hip surgery.

Mama wore their clothes.

The plaid sweater with mismatched buttons.

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But our ride in the sloughs was good, even with pretense of happiness and normalcy. The briny scent of ocean mixed with smells of new growth and bog and skunks and licorice is healing in its own way. Some things are unchanging even while constantly changing.