Every year I get an itch to pretend to be outdoorsy. And by
outdoorsy I mean not just drink on patios outside, but take it a step further.
This usually translates into some version of me and a body of water. This year,
it was white water rafting.
If you want to go do it for yourself, here’s how this is
going to shake out for you. You are going to show up at the place with your
groupon, pay the additional “river fee” (that can’t be a real thing) and be
pointed into the direction of the “safety barn”. There you will put on a life
vest that someone just peeled off of their body and hung there 2 minutes prior.
This personal flotation device has only ever been damp since the day it was
manufactured. It has never ever once dried out.
You will then put on a helmet
that, again, someone just took off their head from returning from an earlier
trip. To the point where sometimes they just hand it right to you and mock the
faux “these have been sprayed clean” façade that the company is trying to put
forth.
It’s then time to load up onto a school bus that is
exclusively sized for elementary schoolers and ride to the drop off point. Your
bus driver is a critical component of this trip. First of all, don’t think
about how someone becomes a river rafting bus driver. Don’t think about life’s
twists and turns that lands someone there. What you need to confirm before
getting on is “does this guy have suspenders on?” Because if you ever, EVER,
get on a bus and the bus driver doesn’t have those on, then they’re not a real
bus driver. They’re an impostor bus driver and you are going to crash and die.
The alternative is a large african american lady who is kind of mean but its for your own
protection. She is the only suitable replacement to the guy with suspenders.
This goes for all buses by the way, not just river buses. This is my bus-advice.
Once you’re at the drop off point you break into raft groups
and get assigned your guide. Your guide will either have a legendary beard, a
smattering of hippy tattoos, nipple rings, dread locks, all of the above, or
you get the guy who has been doing this for 40 years and he goes by the name
Reverend Dean because he “baptizes” you in the river – AKA everyone always
falls out on his raft. Super.
If I had to assign a theme to white water rafting it’s “You’re
going to die”. I don’t know what kind of Einstein’s these river guides are used
to working with, but they spend 30 minutes giving you advice on how to do
things that I’ve managed to master since I was born. At one point the guide
told us that if you are bobbing up and down in the water, breathe on the up-bobs.
I suggested that maybe we just let our instincts kick in, he told me that would
not be sufficient.
After all this life-changing survival advice, you are left
with about a minute to coordinate the rowing. There will be someone in your
group who has never done this nor has he even spent one second of his life
thinking about how rowing works. He will sit behind you. He will, in essence,
play sword fight with you the entire time, hitting your paddle with his on
every stroke, rendering both of you useless. Your raft will paddle in circles.
The circle paddling is not ideal, since every single rock in
the water has a nickname like “face crusher” and “grumpy” and “widowmaker”. Who
gets to name these rocks? Clearly not the nail polish naming people, that’s for
sure. And as you careen around a liquid version of the doldrums you are warned
things like “if you fall out here swim left or you will get sucked into a
vortex and die and I can’t save you”. You have to try and hear that message
between the continuous **whack** sounds of the guy behind you still hitting
your paddle every effing time.
This rock was just called "murder"
Somehow you manage to make it down to the end without you
and everyone you know dying. At this point you kind of wish Jeff had fallen out
and not swam left, but he’s still behind you, super proud he made it too. Good
job Jeff. Then you pile back onto Mrs. Frizzle’s drizzle bus and drip your way
back to the safety barn to hand your gear over to the next victim. You’ve been
pretty jacked about the fact that somewhere along the way your picture was
taken!
Don’t be jacked about this. 1. You look huge in every
picture. 2. You have 12 double chins 3. You are terrified. There is photographic
evidence of Jeff hitting you in the face with his paddle but at least he’s got
a HUGE grin on his face. Glad you had a blast, Jeff, I really am. They will
allow you to buy the pictures but they won’t allow you to pay them to insure that
they never see the light of day again, which I find rude and quite frankly a
business opportunity missed.
At least you did it. You made it. You’re super well rounded
and have checked “do something outdoors this summer” off your list. See you
next year Reverend. You and your nipple rings made my day.
