What I Did On My Summer Vacation

I don't do summer vacations much anymore.

Oh, I'll take the odd day off here and there, or a long weekend; anything bigger than that usually lingers indefinitely on the back burner, mostly because of time or financial constraints. But last weekend, with the summer hour glass more than half empty I caught myself almost wishing to be on a long excursion again; daydreaming about the trips of childhood, when summer vacation was a three month state of being. Thinking back on the enjoyable forays to Disneyland and camp-outs with Grandpa Mason, I flashed back to the vacations I looked forward to the most as a kid, the ones spent with the Hazzard's at Payette Lake, near McCall, Idaho.

Mom and Dad and Mr. and Mrs.Hazzard had all first met during their Southern California church youth group days. Twenty years later, they remained friends. And even after our family moved to Sacramento in the early 60’s, and a few years later the Hazzard's moved to Boise, the connection between the grown-ups and their kids remained strong.

Tom and Barbara Hazzard's second home was a big, beautiful 2-story cabin only steps away from the lake, and every year our family had a standing invitation to drop in. And for seven straight July's, from the summer I was 7 till after turning 13, that’s what we did; we’d cram into the family wagon for the long trip north.  And the trip itself sucked. Back before the SUV, sharing the too crowded back seat with my brother and sister for the 9-hour drive was a major pain. Before thirty miles had ticked off we already hated each other. But the suffering and bickering was worth it because of all the fun waiting when, at last, we "were there yet." 

With so much cool outdoor stuff to do, Payette Lake was kind of a boy’s paradise. And I got to do all that stuff with my best summer friend, "Tiger". His given name was Tim Hazzard, but everybody called him "Tiger and I never knew him as anything else. Tiger and I never saw each other either, except for that one week in the middle of summer. But every time we got together it was like we'd said good bye only the day before. And once the family car was stopped and parked at the cabin, Tiger and I’d be off and running. But we did have to go to sleep at some point, and on one of those balmy Payette evenings during one of the family Payette excursions, I had a little accident. And no, it wasn't that kind of accident.

 

Tiger and I, along with a couple of his brothers and a cousin or two, all shared a room with triple-decker bunk beds. Oh, they were so cool, and I so wanted to sleep on the top bunk. I was never allowed to, though, because the grown-ups said I was too small or might fall out. So I always had to sleep in the bottom bunk. Bleh! But one night Tiger convinced his brother Donny to change places and let me sleep in his bunk on top. I felt like I was king of the world. But the first and only time I was given that honor, I fell out in the middle of the night. The crashing thud on the hardwood floor woke the whole house. And apparently, I was also screaming like I’d been shot, or so I've been told. I call b.s. though, because I don’t remember that happening at all (although I do recall waking up a bit confused in a bottom bunk the next morning). After that though, Dad and Mr. Hazzard- and the bigger boys- all made sure I never got the top bunk ever again.

 

It wasn’t that big deal though; the bunks were just a stopping off place before more outdoor adventures once the sun came up. Tiger and I spent practically every daylight hour hiking the woods, swimming or rowing out onto the lake to spy on the people hanging out on other beach-fronts nearby. We fished a lot too. And catching one, usually a trout, was pure magic; although getting to clean and scrape out its innards later on was not. I did it, though, because I couldn’t eat it otherwise. But I didn't like it

 

Dumping the late creatures’ internal organs into the lake, the smell was nauseating. I could barely keep from puking and wondered if I really wanted trout for dinner after all. I’d have to wipe from memory what it looked and felt like only few hours before- dead and unmoving as my knife carved and scooped out all its vital organs and other odds and ends that make a fish work. Eww. But after Mrs. Hazzard fried it up, the once disgusting catch looked and smelled a lot better. And by then, I’d be real hungry, too. However, after those summers, I never ate fish again.

More to my liking were the trips in Mr. Hazzard's speed boat. Every morning, he made a crossing to pick up the mail or run an errand and if we'd finished breakfast by then, Tiger and I were invited to tag along. And once out of sight of the dock and the Mom's, he let us take turns steering!!  Wow! Before discovering girls, there may not have been anything on Earth as decidedly awesome as bouncing and skimming across Payette Lake, the wind whipping through my hair while going about a hundred miles an hour in Tom Hazzard’s circa 1955 Chris-Craft varnished mahogany Runabout. Although with Tiger or I behind the wheel, I'm pretty sure Mr. Hazzard didn't let the boat's speedometer clip past 15 or 20 mph. But it felt about 100 miles an hour. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

 

Once in town and with a thirty minute time limit, Tiger and I walked- or ran- two blocks to The Merc, the big all purpose, full service grocery store on McCall's main drag. That's where he introduced me to Mountain Dew.
Mountain Dew wasn't yet available in California. So my young palate had only been exposed to the pleasing, though common tastes of Coke, 7-Up or Pepsi. Or the occasional random Orange Crush or Frostie Root Beer. And while these soda strains were all okay, I had no idea what I'd been missing. The first time I ever sampled a Mountain Dew in the parking lot of The Merc, I swear it was the most heavenly liquid ever splashed down my gullet. The cool green, bubbly, citrus fluid was about the most refreshing stuff I’d ever tasted. It was like swallowing nectar of the gods.

After that, Mountain Dew became the number one thirst quencher anytime Tiger and I needed a cold pop, either after the boat rides into town or during hot afternoons of exploring. And I looked forward to having another bottle or two each July after that, until Mountain Dew finally came to the Golden State. It's kind of funny, though; once I could get it anytime, it didn’t taste nearly as special. Anyway, on the rare exception when I treat myself to a pop-top can of the stuff now, it always reminds me of those golden summer afternoons with Tiger at McCall, Idaho. 

 

And though it probably sounds childish and simple now, for me those carefree days at Payette Lake were some of the most idyllic ones ever. With parental oversights loosened, there were no set plans, time tables or places you had to be. It was just 5 or 6 days of fun with Tiger and his brothers and sisters on the shore, or in the chilly waters of the lake; swimming, sipping Mountain Dews and catching fish under the expansive Idaho summer sky.

 

But eventually, everybody grows up and wants to do different things and we didn’t drive up to Idaho anymore. Last time we were all there as kids was 1968. And in all the years since, I haven’t really heard much about the Hazzard's, either, except of Mr. Hazzard’s passing in 2005. The last time I saw Tiger was the summer we were both 21. He and his folks were passing through Sacramento on their way to or from someplace else. Like me, Tiger (Tim by then) was in college. He was studying engineering, but wanted to work for the Forest Service. And it was cool to see him, too. But the spark and excitement of getting together when we were younger wasn't there anymore. It was kind of sad. We'd out-grown each other. And with little in common anymore, after a three hour visit I wasn't as sad as I should've been when he had to leave.

Last week was hectic and kind of crummy, so I guess it was good for me, on a slowed-down Saturday, to close my eyes, let my mind escape and take a mini-vacation. It was kind of nice, for a few minutes anyway, to magically slip back and get lost in that place and time again; when Tiger and I were best friends and knew we always would be. Now that life runs so fast and complex, and I can never be 10 years old again, something as simple as fishing with a buddy at an otherwise out of the way lake, at an unremarkable place, during a long ago summer sounds like it'd hit the spot. Just like that very first frosty Mountain Dew.

Or maybe I just need to plan a real vacation, and take a real break from the craziness. And then really go do it.