I'm back at my local coffee shop and it feels good (I found my old butt groove). Unfortunately, writing in public means I no longer get to type away in my underpants. Or as I call them, my "brainstorming briefs". Alas, Bridgehead has a strict pants policy (I asked). Stop smothering my creativity!
Misunderstood artistic expression aside, I now proudly present the triumphant return of The Southwest!
August 27th - Back on the Colorado: this time it's personal
For those of you who remember the Duckie Incident you know that the Colorado River and I have a history. By that I mean it wants to kill me. Probably because I kept peeing in it.
Still alive against all odds, we decided the best thing to do was tempt fate again by going whitewater rafting in a place called Westwater Canyon.
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| You may know it better as the River Styx |
Now most people opt for the raft where the guide paddles for you (pictured above). As should already be evident by now, we are not most people. Most people, as it turns out, are sane.
We opted for the DIY approach: a bunch of untrained tourists wielding plastic paddles that I'm almost certain said Fisher Price on them somewhere. I was scared to check.
There were eight people to a boat. At first. And guess what? We were randomly teamed up with the French guys! Who by now were clearly spying on us.
So we plunged into the Colorado with reckless abandon. I don't remember much else after that, although my vocabulary of French swear words has now vastly expanded.
Afterwards, the survivors all cracked open some Coors (Regular Coors guys! It's real!) while we floated back to Moab.
Along the way we passed some Canada Geese. In August. As our guide informed us, apparently these guys have figured out that it's actually always warm there and that that whole migration thing is for suckers.
Which I guess means they're just geese now.
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