I sympathize with the penguins.

Floating the river seems like a harmless thing, some may even say fun or enjoyable. No one tells you that the next morning your arms will feel like vestigial appendages, or that paddling at the awkward angle required will give you severe chafing. No one tells you about the hazards of nature or that your tube can be harder to stay on than a bull named Flaming Asteroid at the county fair; but don't you fret, I will be sure to give you the unadulterated truth...

Let's start off by entering the river. Frigid is a horrific understatement. It is closer to ice water like that which runs in my veins. The kind of cold that makes you think you will never be warm again. The kind even Eskimos would cringe at. Once you regain mediocre control of your phalanges and can form a coherent thought, you realize the river isn't flowing straight. The river has pushed you too far right. So you plunge your arms elbow deep back into the glacier runoff and paddle hard left... Too far left so you paddle right. Too far right so you... Give up. What you don't know is that there is a fork fast approaching and you are on the side less traveled. You pump your arms hard left (you stare down to where you know them to be because at this point, seeing is believing...) and try your hardest to rejoin your crew, but alas, you can't make it and are forced to ride the Rapids of disappointment.

A few minutes later, you float under the first bridge and see two adorable baby swallows resting in their nests waiting for mother bird to bring them sustenance. It was so touching that I made the mistake of looking for bird nests under the next bridge... It was not a cute baby swallow, but a bird with a bad attitude. He waited until we made eye contact, grinned maliciously, then went into a kamikaze dive aiming for my left eyebrow. I ducked, he sneered, and I screamed bloody murder as his wings skimmed the top of my head. Someday, I will meet that bird again to even the score. A lot of people like their revenge served cold but I like mine served piping hot in a delicious butter sauce.

A few yards down the way, there was yet another bridge. It had 3 paths to choose from. My friends and I were indecisive as to which lane to take... In our defense, every lane seemed to be blocked by logs, sewage, or other debris and none seemed to be a viable option. My indecision sadly led to the beaching of my tube. Every twig seemed to sharpen as I tried to shimmy my delicate plastic tube off of the clumsily built dam. Agile as I am (not very) I managed to un-suction my rear end and rise out if my tube. I walk across a not-so-stationary log, and dove into open waters... again... which the afternoon sun had not yet successfully heated... I then get carried downstream, outside of the safety of my tube, and waited for my feet, butt, back, or shoulder to find purchase with the shallow rocky river bottom. My entire body seemed bruised and rubbed raw when my feet were finally able to grip the jagged coral reef below. I planted my feet as firm as I could, and thanked heaven for the thigh master as I fought the current and waited for my comrades.

The rest of the float was comparatively uneventful. The next day there was some bruising of the bingo wings and chafing of the hamstrings and some severe growth of the leg hairs, but with a few days, some Jergens deep moisturizing lotion, and a razor, I believe I will recover.

I wish I'd had a pontoon,

Jessica