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2000-08-06 - 22:04:13

Notes from the rafting trip

Notes from the rafting trip

Aug. 4-6, 2000

Since I didn't take the time to write a more detailed account of the trip when it happened, all I can muster now is these notes from my notebook and a few elaborations based on memory. I'm annoyed at myself, because it would've been nice to have something more complete to look back on, but this will have to do.

� License plates on the Pennsylvania Turnpike: THX LVH ("thanks lover") and TOCH POP ("touch Pop"? Um, no thanks.)

� It had rained for weeks beforehand, and the today driving out to Ohiopyle, Pa., was overcast. But tomorrow -- our rafting day -- is promising. As we pass through the hills of western Pennsylvania, we see signs of the recent rain: Luch, green lawns and men out mowing them; raging, high, flowing rivers, rising above their banks and covering the base of some trees.

� Jaime is not impressed: "We're in the middle of nowhere."

� At a Wendy's lunch stop, Bernadette -- the vegetarian -- brings her sushi inside, joining the rest of us at the tables, where we laugh at Dave Thomas' "Cool Club" placards, featuring a goofy, grinning founder in apron inviting us to join. Joel grabs a few and puts them on the back dashboards of the cars.

� Off the turnpike, we get lost on our way to the campsite. After crossing over a somewhat vicious mountain, we pull over to figure out what we did wrong. Joel figures, "We interpreted 'Cross over 40' as 'Turn onto 40 and cross over the mountain.'"

� "Smell my brakes." Don't know where that one came from.

� Late that night, after dinner and some drinking by the campfire, Will and I stand beneath the trees, brushing our teeth on the dirt road of the campground. "I always loved nights like these," he said, "in New York [he went to camp upstate when we were kids], watching satellites cross the sky, looking for shooting stars and comets." I'd never before brushed my teeth while looking up at the nigth sky, a million stars burning against a pitch-black sky. When I was done, I walked along the road a little to get away from the light. But I couldn't get away from the music and the noise -- couldn't have the nighttime silence of Maine -- so I didn't go far, standing there on the road in the field, looking up at a star-studded sky and enjoying where I was.

Aug. 5 -- the day on the river

The wild river was an adventure, providing some nice bucolic moments on the water, then harrowing trips through the rough patches. The recent rain has swollen the river to up to 2 feet more than normal for this time of year. One particular stretch was so disasterous (not in a horrible way, but as far as the percentage of rafts that got through without losing anyone) that it delayed us half an hour so everyone could get back in the right boat and prompted one guide, Erich, to exclaim, "That was a disaster. That was the worst thing I've ever seen."

� At night, around the fire, we sat sore and rattled. Some people had been knocked around, out of the boat and through the rapids, drawn under and driven into rocks by the current. "Everybody's knees got fucked up -- you notice that," said Colin, one of those in the boat that lost everybody. "We were pinballin'."

� Bernadette lost her peeing in the woods virginity. "I didn't even have to go," she said. "I guess we can't call that a 'dry' run," someone replied. After a later run into the woods that night, Jaime and Bernadette spent half an hour standing on the fringe of the trees, just beyond the light, girl-talkin'.

� We determined that "Under The Bridge" by the Chili Peppers is about some bridge in Manayunk, but now I can't remember the connection.

� "I'm so dehydrated from the sun -- and also because I can't remember the last time I had a drink of water," Will said. Also: "Fire grow higher, make Will warmer."

Heading home, Aug. 6

We wake up to light rain, which becomes a steady downpour before we've packed everything into the van and cars. It makes for a quick goodbye and an early start back east.

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