May 25, 2015, I arrived in Missouri and moved my stuff I still can’t throw away into Steve's palace on Garth. While packing I picked through wonderful memories: some sad, some bittersweet.
I spent as much time with my son as he could stand. I helped him fix his bicycle, took him out to eat including our favorite buffet at India's House in downtown Columbia and jogged with him as often as possible on the MKT.
Once while jogging solo on the MKT I came across a tiny fawn, still stumbling on its spindly legs as it wandered onto the trail following its mother, who had just crossed my path. I instinctively cooed at the cute thing and he started toward me before I coaxed him without touching him to follow his mother back into the woods.
One more evening at Murry's with Leighton Roden on the piano and then a visit with him at the bar where he entertained Lisa and I with his story of floating the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon in the ‘70s with another guy in a two-man boat, and how they swam every rapid, including Lava Falls! Afterward Lisa and I strolled with Dexter through her starlit neighborhood.
Our final walk together on my last Monday afternoon in Missouri the skies burst over our heads and after hiding under a tree awhile, we decided to walk home in the rain. Soaked by the time we reached her house, I felt like an 8 year-old again with my mouth gaping open to catch as many raindrops as possible. Then we watched “Frozen” on Lisa's TV, the first time for me, and realized “Let it Go” is my theme song.
On my last day in Missouri I took Lil’ Marley out on Twin Lakes to practice my eskimo rolls; I completed two but also had to swim twice. When I returned home I locked myself out of my car, phone, all three car keys still in the car, but I was able to access my AAA membership info via my computer and use a neighbor’s phone to call. Less than 30 minutes later my car was unlocked. It was tough for the tow truck responder to unlock my 2010 Honda Civic sedan and the only way he got in was by snagging my single key on a lanyard chain and dragging it through the gap he created in the door seal. Silly me.
Sad. I pulled almost the exact same stunt last time I left Missouri via car, locking myself out of the house the day I was taking off from Missouri for my summer trip through Colorado and California before flying to Spain just two years before. Am I really ready to leave Missouri or am I unconsciously trying to sabotage my plans to move on?
My “storage unit” at Garth is 2/3 full. I planned for the kids to bring a suitcase of rollerblades, my snowboard and winter gear, and a suitcase of work clothes when they fly to California later in the summer. I strapped two bikes and a kayak onto my Yakimas, and sandwiched the rest of my sporting gear along with clothes, computer and stuff for camping in my car. And I could still see out the back and side windows!
Off to Sophia’s with my sweetest friends, Joan, Lisa and my adorable son Nick: Maggie still in Mendoza, Argentina, finishing her year of studying abroad. Then a James Brown at Andy’s with Michael after Missouri said goodbye with an amazing sunset. I will miss these people. I will miss this place. But I’m going to keep smiling because it happened. Thank you God for this wonderful life! I’m traveling light but with a heavy heart. When you travel, you should never say goodbye, just “see you later …”
On cruise control to Colorado
Then a man and woman pulled up in their car and started talking next door. I tried not to listen. Then silence. Then “oh, oh, oh” loud and clear. Someone was having a good time and didn’t care who heard it. Then silence interrupted by the crying baby at the campsite across the way. It was faint and didn’t bother me much. Then the other guys next door pulled in and started chatting away. Silence then chatting mixed with laughter, silence then chatting. One of the guys had a hoarse cough. Damn! My Advil P.M. wore off. I never sleep well in altitude but my noisy neighbors weren't helping. I have no idea when I finally fell asleep. I woke at 7 a.m. when “Oh, oh, oh” and her boyfriend drove off. I walked around looking for a better campsite before hitting the breakfast place across the highway. The campground manager had told me it didn’t open until 7:30, but the 8 Mile Bar & Grill was actually scheduled to open for breakfast from 7 to 10:30 daily. I had mine featuring coffee, lots of creamers, and a fried egg sandwich with cheese and bacon on sourdough. I saved half my sandwich for lunch and after dragging my tent over to a different and possibly quieter campsite, I headed to Canon City.
One of the many river outfitters I spoke with the previous few days told me about the whitewater park in downtown Canon City. She said people were out kayaking in it to prepare for the upcoming whitewater festival and that I would have no problem finding someone to spot me while I practiced my eskimo rolls, ferries and eddies.
But when I pulled up to Centennial Park, I found the river raging by, empty of boaters. Not even a car with roof racks or a boat trailer in sight. Men were setting up barriers and tents for the festival. The sign said the park was closed due to high water. At first gander I thought I could have handled the water. Some large standing waves and no rocks to maneuver around. Then again, no eddies: no slow moving water along the banks to swim to. The Arkansas was about 4 feet higher than normal and completely unforgiving. A boater needed a 100% whitewater roll, not my measly 25 to 50% combat roll. Hell, I had lost my 100% lake roll. I had no business being in that water, with or without help.
So I hauled down my hybrid bike and road up and down the pea-gravel trail that borders the banks. Only about a 1.5 mile section was open due to flooding, so I just rode back and forth multiple times, stopping along the river to wade into a shallow section away from the current to beat the 95 degree “dry” heat. While hiding from the sun under a railroad trestle that crossed the river I met Bob, a red Pit Bull who insisted I play fetch with a slobbery stick he retrieved from the banks while his hairy human stood by and jawed with me. Back at the park for lunch, I met Brandon and Norm and we visited about the festival, our travels and life in general. According to Norm the Arkansas River was currently closed to anyone but licensed rafting outfitters. Still, the week before a licensed outfitter lost an 11-year-old boy who fell out of a boat without having his life vest secured properly. So sad. Always check those life vests; don’t rely on the staff.
I tried to take a nap despite the pesky flies and a trio who had to play Frisbee close enough that their cheers of delight jarred me. I pedaled along the river some more, watched the storm clouds hurl lightning bolts at the neighboring mountains, and sat on the bank under a pavilion as the thunderstorm struck. The cool air from the passing storm chilled me, then the sun poked out and baked me. Even back at campsite #68 around 5:30 I had to hide in the shade to stay cool. Another thundercloud marched by and sprinkled everything with rain. Around 7 in the evening a cloud hid the sun and I remained comfortably cool and dry.
The 2015 Royal Gorge Whitewater Festival “Boats, Bands, Beer” also served as the USA Rafting Nationals Time Trial, so competitors from around the country participated in teams of 6 paddlers. For the 2015 results: www.royalgorgewhitewaterfestival.com
Some local kayakers surfed in the large standing waves for the crowd’s entertainment. Then they called for volunteers to man the rafts for the community raft competition, and I signed up.
They told me I didn’t need a wetsuit, and although it was around 6:30 in the evening before we got in the 40 to 50 degree F water, I didn’t press the issue. Seven rafts loaded with locals and led by guides from area outfitters put in the water. Our guide had brought along a sackful of beer, something that should have sent off warning signals. I had one but decided to save room for a second after the race. A large man with dreadlocks and a huge gut gave us our safety instruction. Nobody asked me to sign a waiver. Then we were off.
Our guide, “Muppet” had an oar boat with four paddles for the six of us. The other woman and I sat in front while the men paddled. We went through the large waves and several smaller rapids before hitting a flat stretch of the two-mile course. Two paddle boats passed us, and I could hear Muppet huffing and puffing as he tried to win back some ground.
Then shortly before the finish line, I saw a thick tree branch leaning out from the banks running parallel to the river and shouted that we needed to steer river right. I thought for sure the guide would have seen this huge tree sticking out ready to catch our boat. I thought for sure he’d heard me. I was wrong for sure.
The river was running fast and we hit it head-on. Muppet shouted for everyone to duck, so the woman and I dropped into the front of the boat. I felt the branch drag over my back and once we cleared it, complete mayhem ensued. I turned around to discover we’d lost our guide and two of the other paddlers. The guide was clinging to the boat and hollering for help to get back into the boat while screaming “My leg! My leg!” I hauled him in as he moaned the entire time. One of the support kayakers pulled alongside and hopped into the boat while I supported the guide’s head as the other woman tried to help him get his twisted leg in a less painful position. Then another raft pulled alongside and a guy hopped in. He was actually a raft guide and was able to direct the paddlers to steer us toward the takeout.
By the time we reached the takeout, everyone was shouting. The other raft guides took charge and stabilized his leg. Muppet complained that the pain was mostly centered about his knee. Since he was sitting up on a seat in the oar boat, the branch knocked him off his seat and he must have twisted his knee in the process. An ambulance arrived and the EMS personnel loaded Muppet in and took him to the hospital. No one else on our boat was hurt. The rest of us, wet, and cold, finished the beer Muppet had brought and headed back to the festival. A strong reminder that alcohol and water don’t mix when on the river. I had been surprised that our guide was drinking in the first place, especially with the river in flood stage. But sometimes people get cocky.
The rest of the evening progressed without much excitement. I had a gyro salad while listening to a great band and watched everyone else dancing. But I was tired and ready to hit my tent for a good night sleep before a day kayaking in the river with a guide.