In the summers of my youth, before I started my working life, we would ride our bikes down Seaward Ave.,from Poli to the beach. We screamed down the steep dirt trail, in front of the old lemon packing house, that went straight over the edge and bypassed the switchbacks, to the flat lands below we call Pierpont Beach. Wow! What a thrill it was.

At the end of Seaward was a beach frequented by hundreds of people in the summer. I'd usually have a little money for some Sugar Babies or watermelon while most of the day was spent bodysurfing in the warm Pacific and then lying face down in the hot sand.

That idea of warm is all relative because when I returned to live in Ventura, for two years, back in 1980, the warm water now felt ice cold. It's amazing how tolerant a 10 year old boy can be. We would stay in the water till our lips turned blue and only complained when it was time to go home.

At age 35, it took less than 10 minutes before I thought I was going into a state of hypothermia. My fingers wouldn't work and it was painful. What happened in those past 25 years to make things so different?

This morning, in Mazatlan, I got up at 8:00AM and headed down to the surf. I had my bodyboard and fins, a towel and a change of clothes. The water was about 88 degrees. Fine...so fine!

There weren't many waves but I didn't care. It was either do a power walk or paddle around for an hour. Besides, there was no one out, with an occasional set, 2 to 3 foot every 20 minutes, it wasn't that bad. The water was crystal clear and you could see bright tropical fish swimming around the rocks below.

I returned home and headed over to Calle Aleman for two glasses of fresh squeezed orange juice. From there I went home and put on that old Mamas and Papas album with the song "California Dreamin". Somehow, in the warm sun of Mexico, it feels like old California. Esta toda madre compadres!

Santa Paula circa 1955 I'M READY FOR THE WATER!