Here, nothing seems to have changed. My older siblings seemed to have known something about this particular area. But then again, I've often felt this way as the youngest in the family. There is a wooden boardwalk adjacent to the pathway Fellowship Parkway.
As far as I know, it's always looked dilapidated. Fellowship Parkway is the name of a street where some of the steepest streets in Los Angeles can be found. Houses still stand with addresses containing the name Fellowship Pkwy.
I always felt that that boardwalk I had been dared to tread upon was private property, otherwise I might have taken that dare and followed its path to see where it might lead me. I wouldn't have gotten far, however, as being lost was right up there as one of my fears next to confrontation by strangers.
Now that I know where the path leads, the fears of Fellowship pkwy has taken a modern neurosis. Drug addicts squatting in the area, property owners frustrated by explorers walking the path leading up to private property and ready to shoot. The boardwalk, though, is the same disheveled structure. Obviously nobody treads over it, hence it never needing repair.
Signs warning people not to trespass blocks the pathway now. When I was still little, perhaps the bridge-like structure would've supported my weight. Now that I'm more confident, it's the fear of breaking the planks and falling, which my older siblings expected when they asked me whether I was brave enough to explore the undeveloped hillside, that amplifies the feeling of lag.