You might know by now that at a certain point in our childhood, we moved to sunny California. But not the California that comes to mind when you think of the great Pacific Coast or the Hollywood sign or the cinematic scene painted by the “Real” Housewives of Beverly Hills. No, we lived in the middle of the Mojave desert in a small, rather isolated town of about 25,000 people along Route 395.
Our dusty city was known as Ridgecrest. Its claim to fame was being the epicenter of earthquakes in the United States. Rumor has it that Ridgecrest also had the highest number of teenage pregnancies per capita in the country at the time, a statistic the city probably wouldn’t want to claim. The initial settlers called the town “Crumville,” with the official name being settled on in 1941 as Ridgecrest (following an intense race between Sierra View and Gilmore). Naturally, we took to calling it Crumville nonetheless.
While we are on the topic of Ridgecrest anecdotes, here’s one more piece of trivia for you. The recently-filmed iconic scene with Tom Cruise in the airplane hanger appearing in the intro and ending of “Top Gun: Maverick” took place at the Inyokern airport, a sleepy pass-through town of 857 residents just outside the city limits of its big sister, Ridgecrest. When Kara watched the movie, she recognized the scene without knowing in advance where it was filmed. Dad, a private pilot, used to fly out of Inyokern airport, sometimes with one or more kids as passengers.
There isn’t a whole lot to do in Ridgecrest, probably owing to its location, its dry heat, and its size. (The teenage pregnancy rumor is gaining more and more traction….) One summer, while we were attempting to entertain ourselves “laying out” in the backyard on beach towels while our little brother caught massive lizards with his buddy, our parents gave us an incredible gift.
They bought a boat.
This was a big deal. First, there were the financials. We have no idea what was paid for the boat or how it all came about other than to know that it was purchased used from a family friend, but we could sense this was an investment in fun like no other our parents had ever made. Even as young kiddos, we were intuitive enough to realize that mom and dad had taken a big leap on this adventure.
Second, there were the logistics. Where in the desert could one use a boat? How would we learn the pasttime? What would we do on said boat?
Third, there was the most important question: when could we take her for the first ride? (Somehow, the two of us missed out on the infamous inaugural outing that included rescuing two young men from a capsized fishing boat. We think it was probably because of a dance performance and a soccer game. But we rarely missed another trip.)
About the logistics, dad found the perfect spot in Lake Isabella, just a “short” one-and-a-half hour ride away from our town. On designated boat days, we’d all pile in the blue Suburban with our Bayliner bowrider in tow, and drive out to the lake while fighting over how high to put the A/C and being threatened to “lose rear control” if we couldn’t figure it out among ourselves.
As we rounded the corner nearing the lake, we’d spot the sign for the “Dam Korner,” a cleverly named fuel spot and mini mart. This sight would immediately trigger our taking serious license with saying the word dam as many ways and times as possible. We knew we were pushing the bounds when we started calling it the “dam it station,” so we’d typically dial it back at that point.
Anyone who owns a boat knows the amount of money and prep work that continues to go into it even after it is acquired. To drive home this point, our dad often says that “BOAT” stands for “bring on another thousand.”
To help our parents spend that initial wad, our first order of business was to get our hands on a catalog from Overton’s. Before the days of Amazon and easy shipping from Dick’s and like sporting-goods stores, Overton’s was the one and only source for all things boating. (We’re happy to report that Overton’s is still in business!) We ordered up a slew of O’Neill life jackets in all sizes and bright colors. We got some water skis and ropes. And we purchased Wild Thing.
What is Wild Thing, you ask? It’s the name we awarded to a large inflatable rocket that multiple kids could ride at once while trailing behind the boat, waves splashing in our faces, dancing as we held on for dear life, simultaneously singing our famous theme song: “WILD THING . . . You make my heart sing. You make everything groovy. Wild thing. Wild thing, I think I love you. But I wanna know for sure . . .” (Wild Thing looked somewhat similar to this, currently available online from Overton’s, but without so many bells and whistles and bumps to keep the kids onboard. It was the 90’s, man.)
Learning how to become a boater seemed to come quite naturally to dad. Mom had her strengths—including packing the most delicious turkey sandwiches, fried chicken, and Chips Ahoy cookies for our outings—but backing in the boat trailer for launching was never one of them. In fairness to mom, when backing in a trailer, every instinct in your body tells you to do the opposite of what you should do. If you turn the steering wheel to the left, the trailer goes right, and so on and so forth. We rarely witnessed our parents disagreeing or fighting, but they could slip up every now and then at the boat dock.
Once in the lake, it was time to cruise around while laying out on in the bow (the front, for those of you non-boaters). Then it was time to start waterskiing or riding Wild Thing. We’d swim, have lunch, and do it all over again. Before we knew it, the day was over and it was time to go home. One or more of us would usually pass out on the trip home due to sheer exhaustion and too much sun. We’d dread getting home to Sherri street because we knew that when we arrived, the after work would begin.
We have the fondest memories on the “Babeliner,” as we called it. We soaked up the desert sun. We learned to water ski. We witnessed our dad shed a very rare tear of joy when our mom got up on water skis for the first time. We saw our little brother catch his very first fish (so tiny it had to be thrown back, but he caught it!) which led to his lifetime love of fishing. We laughed with bellies full of chips and cookies. We cried when Wild Thing died. (And promptly bought a new one.) We bonded as a family and as siblings. We didn’t love the hard work that went into cleaning the boat after each outing, but we understood this was a necessary part of keeping the fun alive and reluctantly learned the value of grit.
When it came time to leave California, mom and dad sold the boat. In a prediction dad may never live down, he said we probably “wouldn’t have any water” wherever we would land. Of course, we landed in North Florida, with bodies of water (lakes, river, ocean) surrounding us in every direction.
Despite all the water near our new home, we didn’t have a boat for years. We were in the thick of high school sports and activities—too busy for full days on the water. We did have a friend who lived on the creek and would take us out wake-boarding among the gators who were visibly sunning themselves along the banks. (We do NOT recommend hanging in creeks with gators. What were we thinking? Did our parents know about this?) And after Kara got married, she and her husband bought a small boat with the help of her sweet mother-in-law, which served all of the families well for years before babies started coming.
Perhaps owing to days on Kara’s boat along with great memories on their own, mom and dad got the itch again. With a sprinkle of nostalgia and a bit of thriftiness, Dad again purchased a very used Bayliner, this time from a man named Captain Ken. After multiple thousands and multiple failed trips, dad threw his hands up and sold that one.
Soon after, our parents bought a brand new Monterey boat that is large enough to fit just about the entire extended family. To quote one of our favorite movies, “She’s a beaut, Clark.”
Now our children are growing up with the same boating experiences we had as kids, but this time in Doctor’s Lake. They’re learning how to water ski. They’re slowly figuring out the right way to “WIPE OUT” while attempting to water ski. (“Let goooooooo!!”) They’re eating elevated turkey sandwiches (mom brings a variety of cheese and meats now) and cookies. They’re riding big inflatables. They’re resolving conflict within the confines of a floating vessel for hours at a time. They formed the “GCC,” which stands for “Good Choices Club,” in which they remind each other “Yo, we’re in the GCC…yeah, you know me!” when one child is about to go rogue. They sit with Captain Grandpa and help steer the craft. They chat idly with their aunts while cruising around the lake. They belly laugh in their lifevests as their uncles disappear below the surface of the water in front of them, only to pop up behind them. They’re bonding with each other and the whole family. They spend quiet moments with themselves staring out at the reflective blue water, lost in the mysterious thoughts of childhood. They’re witnessing the adults’ efforts to make the day a special one for all involved, as a team. And they love it.
Our parents probably knew it each time, but they didn’t just invest in a depreciating asset. They invested in life spent on the water, with their people. In tan lines that last beyond the length of summer days. In moments of pure delight as we witness a kiddo get up on the water skis for the first time. They invested in sacred time with our toddlers as they fall asleep on their mamas, covered in a beach towel that is shielding them from the wind and sun. They invested in lifetimes of special memories that are spilling over into multiple generations, compounding interest with each grateful statement of “Thanks for taking us out on the boat, Grandma and Grandpa.”
So, bring on another thousand.
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