We sat there in total astonishment. Seeing that
changed my life. After a couple of days, we
started going to Central Pool ourselves, when
the other guys weren't around. We both fell a
good deal at first, and a couple of occasions a
swollen elbow or scraped knee emerged. It was
all in good fun, of course, and we always said to
ourselves, "No pain, no gain!" A couple of
weeks of practice and a dash of courage helped
us accomplish our goal. We could both carve
backside over the light, and sometimes I could
hit the tiles. Then one day the elders caught
us skating in their pool. The asked us politely to
leave (as they threw our boards over the fence),
and we did as we were told. But we came back
and watched in silence. The elders all stared at
us with hatred in their eyes. We were on to their
secret. Gary asked us if we knew how skate in
the pool yet. He told us that we could stay if we
could go over the light. So we did. The elders.
were amazed. They asked how we learned. Then
we told them the story. I That summer, we
spent a great deal of time at Central Pool
perfecting our craft. Nearly twelve years later,
I was in that same neighborhood. I remembered
skating it in the early days. I looked over the
fence, seeking to recapture my youthful
excitement. Much to my surprise, Central Pool
was bone dry once again. That was kicker. I had
to skate it again. So I did.
POOL PATTER
SCOLT DUNHAM
Somewhere on the Mogollon Rim, in Central
Arizona, there is a pool. An abandoned pool in
an old abandoned camp where, legend has it,
the first "Friday the 13th" movie was filmed.
The Pool Patrol heard of this rare beauty
through its intrepid network of spies. Jason's
Pool, as it is sometimes called, had not been
sessioned for years. How come? No one knew.
Perhaps it was fear of that gnarly guy in the
hockey mask. Perhaps it was adolescent
boredom. Or maybe all the old devotees had left
town, never letting the secret location leave their
lips. All but one. I ran into him down at
Dutchman's, a prime secret swimming hole
along Oak Creek. A few well-placed beers
yielded complete directions to the spot.
Seventeen miles of winding dirt road brought
the Patrol to the object of our desire. Nestled
among the pines was a simple, sweet, egg.
shaped beauty. Hardly a scar for all that time.
she had been sitting there, but she definitely
looked lonely. We hopped the split rail fence
with its obligatory "No Trespassing" sign.
Buckets in hand, we reverently approached the
lip. Her pristine white interior was dazzling in
the bright Arizona sun, dimmed only by a
murky pool of primordial ooze in the bottom of
the deep end. The rarified atmosphere at 7,000
feet, with a few good lightning strikes, had
brought forth life from the slime. There was a
42. Тнельная Маслаче
regular biome of toads, frogs and predatory
water bugs that sucked the guts out of any fly
foolish enough to land on the algae-covered
surface. The water was almost deep enough for
Jason to be hiding in there, just waiting for some
unwary skater to reach in and... But we were
not dismayed. We were professionals. It was
time to roll up our sleeves and get to work. With
three of us on buckets, we would have her in
prime skating condition in an hour or so. We
had just gotten our bucket brigade running
smoothly however, when we were rudely
interrupted by a form of local wildlife. A big
old beat up Ford truck pulled up, and out
stepped a big potbelly, followed by a middle-
aged man with a cowboy hat. He wore thick
prescription sunglasses, but his face was still all
crinkled up from wincing in the sun and trying
too hard to see. He had two days of stubble. His
nose was sunburnt red and, you guessed it, so
was his neck. He stomped up to the edge of the
coping and started yelling at us in a friendly
way, as only an Arizonan or a Texan can. I
"What the hell are you boys doin', huh? Ken I
help you with somethin'?" "No sir, I don't
think so," I said, recognizing a ripe opportunity
when I saw one. "The most helpful thing you
could do is just stand back and let us do our
job. We'll have you taken care of in no time."
He was visibly taken aback by my response. I
knew I had to talk fast now to avoid a good dose
of rock salt from the shotgun he undoubtedly
kept in his truck. I "Taken care of?! Well I
never! What the @#%* is goin' on?" I "Sir," I
said, "it was all explained in the letter you
received from the Department of Public
Health... "What letter?" "Just a moment
sir... Chris! Sweep that debris toward the
center more. And get that frog out of there." I
hopped out of the pool and strode over to my
car with the air of an important person
interrupted in the middle of an important job,
which in fact I was. I pulled out my mileage
record and pretended to read a page of it very
carefully. Throwing it down in frustration, I
pulled out a bogus sheaf of papers that I kept
behind the seat for just such an occasion. I
pretended to find the sheet I was looking for.
"What was your name again, sir?"
"Hogmouth, Barney Hogmouth." I let out a
little gasp. "Mr. Hogmouth, my records
indicate that we never received a confirmation
from you about cooperating with our program.
This is most irregular. Is it possible that your
response to us was lost in the mail?" q
"Response? What response? I never got any
letter from you! Who are you anyway?" Good,
he was getting exasperated now. I've always
found that confusion is the best way to defuse
an animal's aggressive instincts. Now was the
time to go for the kill. "Oh dear!" I said,
waving my arms at my buddies, who had calmly
continued bailing the pool through all this.
GOOF CUTTEKA