A River Runs Through Us

When Robert asked me a month ago if I wanted to take a whitewater rafting trip with him I was stunned. Is this the same man who broke into a sweat at the thought of riding the Log Flume at Disneyland a few years ago?

"Really?" I asked, half-listening from my supine position on the couch.
"Yeah," he said, standing over me while chugging a Crystal Geyser.
"No REALLY." I sat up, leaned in to make eye contact, checking his pupils for signs of a bluff.
"Yes, I really want to go." His eyeballs were focused back on me, in complete earnest and even excitement.
"No way! NO way! I've been trying to convince you to go before, what's changed your mind?" I was on my knees hopping up and down on the couch, ponytail flying about in happiness.
"Well Patty rafted last year and loved it. I figured if she can do it, I can do it."
And then I see that look. The Kuhar "I can do ANYTHING just watch me" sparkle in the eye and "I'm unstoppable" smile. Even now, nine years later, that look makes me all mushy inside.

God bless our friend Patty! She stands about 4'10", weighs 85lbs and can't swim. At 24 she looks 15, and has a voice like a songbird--especially when she speaks Spanish to relatives on her cellphone. Who knows what possessed her to look death in the face last year but now my latent little dream of adventure was going to be fulfilled! She was like those bird they'd used to set off in the coal mines checking for toxic gas, and since she came out alive, we got to raft the American River--our greatest FuKu adventure yet of the year.


We had six in our group and quite the cast of characters:
Rosie "I Don't Wanna Get Wet" Mendosa
Steph "Stuck in the Middle of a Waterfight" Zhong
Patty "You Row While I Put on Sunscreen" Cruz
Anthony "Getting Dirty Cramps My Style" Thomas
Phil "I Can Eat a 5-Course Meal While Driving" Feldman
Robert "I No Longer Know Fear" Kuhar

Eight Hours to Sacramento
We hauled our gear and bodies into a rented mini-van at around 7:30am Saturday and hit the road. Plush seats, air conditioning and a CD player but -- no CDs. Oops. That's what happens when you pack in the morning while half-asleep. I wondered how I'd survive a roadtrip without tunes. And even worse, after having a Starbucks chai an early restroom trip seemed inevitable. So I did what anyone in my position would do: take a nap.

I lasted 45 minutes before I had to meekly raise my hand and ask for a pit stop. And here I learned my first thing about Anthony: he does NOT enjoy pit stops. "Are you KIDDING me? Wah, wah, wah..." He tells the story of when he drove to San Francisco without stopping once and making it in like, 2 hours from LA. This is obviously a badge of honor for him, like fathers who tell the story of how they walked three miles through the snow to school without shoes. We would hear this story at least every time we stopped -- which to Anthony's dismay turned out to be every other exit.

But not on account of me. We had to fill up with gas, eat lunch, and oh yeah, drop by a local pub to watch the last 15 minutes of the World Cup and root for Mexico (they lost). I got used to Anthony's periodic sighs and found them kinda endearing. Nothing like rushing to go camping so you can finally take time to slow down.

I slept through most of the drive so only heard strings of conversation: playing poker in casinos, Rosie's upcoming move to North Carolina, her recent overnight stint in jail (which became fodder for a bevy of jokes about giving her an orange jumpsuit as a going away gift, or how not to become someone's b*tch). I love her. She laughs at herself and she knows how to take an embarrassing moment and turn it to her advantage. Never mess with a "felon."

Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot
We arrived at the campsite by late afternoon where it was 101 degrees and humid. The wind had gone on vacation somewhere, because the air was dead still--save for the occasional warm puff down by the river. I stood completely still found myself sweating. Even the lizards were hiding out for fear of a sunburn. As we wandered the campgrounds looking for a good landing place I fantasized about air conditioning and drinks with lots of ice cubes (both things I typically can't stand), and replayed at least 20 times in my head that old Lipton Iced Tea commercial where you watch people fall backwards into a cool swimming pool holding their tea and looking completely orgasmic. Maybe if I can imagine it, it just might happen.

Fast Pitching
We had a casual contest to see who could pitch their tent the fastest--and that turned out to be us (woohoo). Anthony and Phill were handicapped by the old-school tent they had. The kind that's more like a brain teaser of metal tubes you have to twist into a giant exoskeleton. Robert and I could hear the clanging from down the hill, and the familiar cursing that comes with figuring out which tube slides into which. But they were pretty savvy and an hour later (instead of the average two), we witnessed the pop-up moment of their pimped out canvas castle. Bay windows, skylights, carpeting (ok I exaggerate some). But you could stand in it, and could probably have about 6 people hiphopping in ther--if it weren't so blasted hot.

Instead, we hopped back into the van and hit the local grocery store for drinks, ice, a cooler and some snacks. When we returned to the site, we moved as little as possible, moving our arms only to drink something cold, or play cards.

Murder, She Wrote
The favorite card game of the trip was Murder. A mix of Spades, Hearts and that poker game where you stick your card face out on your forehead and bid if you have the highest or lowest card looking at everyone else's foreheads. Rosie and Anthony battled it out like a bickering married couple, and I laughed so hard I thought I'd cough up a lung. We played until you could only see the cards by flashlight. The idea of making smores by the fire got nixed since the temp had dropped to only 95, and the marshmallows had melted into a sticky mass of sweet glue. We said our good nights, and I went off to take a cold shower before bed so I could drift off to sleep--like I did those hot August nights in Taipei.

It was a rough night of sleep but Robert and I at least got some cross ventilation working in the tent. We slept with our faces to the window and took in the smell of pine trees. The sensor light in the campground was blinking on and off everytime other campers walked by so it was like sleeping by a lighthouse. College kids filled this place and they stayed up talking about who their source was for crack and such. Still I loved being out there, sleeping in the fresh air, and looking forward to the next night when they packed out and we were to get the entire place to ourselves.


A River Runs Through Us
It's tough putting this experience into words--the pictures do better justice. I'll say that I never had such a natural high in my life. The water was as icy as the air was scorching, and I could feel my neck and arms cooking while my feet turned a hyperthermic blue. The brutal duality was--incredible. I was a human McDLT and don't think I'd ever felt such cellular proof that I AM ALIVE.

We took the full river trip of South Fork and immediately faced the rapids once we got in the water. Not a lot of time to practice before we met up with Meatgrinder, a 3+ rapid that smacked us in the face and poured six inches of water into our raft. Cold, cold, cold! We screamed from those icy pelts then howled like cowboys after digging through it. It was the beginning of our watery rodeo trip down the Fork.

I loved doing 360s around the Triple Threat--spiralling about seeing nothing but white froth in front of me. Then came Troublemaker, a 3+ that catches boats in its trap and flips them like pancakes. Our guide Gene gave us plenty of warning and our muscles firmed up for the big push. Our boat was sucked straight down into a hole (I thought we were drilling to the other side of the earth) like a rollercoaster and thrown suddenly straight up into the air.

Once we realized we had made it through Troublemaker alive, Anthony, Robert and I shook off our fears and fully embraced all the upcoming rapids. Under Gene's professional guidance (he was formerly an Army man who grew up on the river) we turned into semi-competent Navy Seals.

At lunch, the six of us were able to rejoin as a group. Apparently Rosie and Patty had been sipping maitais while their previous guide did all the work, so they were in for something unexpected with 'Mean Gene'. Rosie's smile was quickly replaced with a a constipated look that we all wore. She got drenched and scratched her manicure job while rowing. Patty escaped by playing the "sunscreen trick"--conveniently reapplying Coppertone everytime we approached a rapid. She's the only one whose ribs didn't get sore after the trip.






Satan's Cesspool and Satan's Son were the heavies of the lower fork. My jaw is still sore where I smashed into Anthony's skull. We jumped out to swim during the calm waters and Gene threw Princess Rosie in--ooh, lucky she didn't up and push him in afterwards--you know those felons!

Eight hours and 21 miles later we reached the Take-Out and were motor boated to the buses. Camp was virtually empty now (Sunday night) and I was looking forward to a quiet night of sleep under the trees. But we went to dinner and there our plans began to unravel.

The Last Supper
We took our sand-covered selves into a she-she continental restaurant. An overpaid, underwhelming meal for anyone who ordered seafood. The waiter looked like a long lost cousin of the Addams Family with a gait that rivaled the speed of Thing coming out of his box. People who shall remain nameless became hungry, then grumpy, then determined to get out of dodge. Should we stay or should be go? We took a vote: a dead tie. I ended up playing Judas, offering to switch my vote to a 'go' if the "goers" agreed to pack up all the stuff for those that wanted to stay. Now in hindsight, I realized that I never actually heard a yes, never got a handshake, nor the help I had bargained for. Hmm, future note to self.

Escape from Gold Rush Country
We got back to camp at around 8pm to pack up. Robert, Patty and I took one last trip to the river, where the wind had just returned from its vacation. The water smelled like spring, I skipped a few rocks, and then camp owner came down to tell us we could camp right by the river that night if we wanted. I looked over at Robert, who now was looking bummed we were leaving -- or was it the shots of pain he felt in his sunburnt thighs. None of us wanted to pack up in this heat. And the idea of sneaking away from camp to sleep in van until early morning was turning me into a b*tch. We had just rafted for 8 hours--now we have to break down camp and sleep sitting up in a car? I didn't think so.

After some more bicker-bicker (mostly me and Rosie) we got in the car with Phill in the driver's sleep. That man is a squirrel! Munching away at who-knows-what kind of snacks. I was lying in Robert's lap when Robert's body started shaking from a laughin fit: "Phill, whatcha doing, eating a five-course meal?" Phill's hands were cupped like scoopers, that met his mouth with roadrunner speed. He held onto the wheel with his elbows, and every so often, he'd swerve over the line then jerk us back. No one said anything, but you heard a lot of silent praying going on in the back. Would we survive the river only to die at the hands of a twitchy driver?

We stopped at least five times on the way home to Anthony's pleasure. I think a few of those trips were intended just to push his buttons. But he seemed a little more resigned now (we only heard the driving story once this time), and all he could think about was the feel of his own bed. Rosie took over midway though Phill insisted he was still ok to drive/twitch, but within minutes, he was snoring happily in the back seat.

Made it home by around 4am. I didn't want to talk to anybody, I was too tired, bummed about my lost river, too tired (did I say too tired). We had a rather anticlimatic goodbye since everyone had turned into a zombie, but it was still the highlight trip of the year. And for all our idiosyncrasies as a group, I love everyone in a very special way.

Epilogue
Robert is officially hooked on rafting. We have decided to take a Cat IV trip next year for several days, where we can live, camp, fish by the river. To make up for our early escape, he promised to take me beach or lake camping overnight before summer's out. What a great hubby.

Patty is considering swimming lessons so she can step up a category herself. It may have to wait until after she learns how to play tennis.

Rosie, is still planning her move to North Carolina. We are on the hunt for an orange jumpsuit for her.

Anthony is happily sleeping at home, where there is not a lick of dirt in sight.

Phill copied photos for everyone of the trip. They can be seen at here.


The Tony Awards
Best Unoriginal Theme Song: On the Road Again
Best Producer: Rosie [thanks for organizing the trip...i'm still waiting for those receipts!]
Best Meal: Barbecued ribs and chicken, Gold Rush Rafting
Most Popular Alcoholic Drink: Smirnoff Ice
Most Popular Non-alcoholic Drink: Ice cubes
Smallest bladder: Steph
Largest bladder: Anthony
Murder Champions: Phil and Anthony
Gold Rush Prince and Princess: Anthony and Rosie (Patty, runner-up)
Best Action Sequence: Anthony, Robert and Steph tackling Troublemaker; (Phil's stunt eating-driving, runner-up)
Best Ensemble Cast in a Comedy: US!

For full slide show, visit: here.