Arizona: Tubing the Salt

MAPS OF Phoenix will show the Salt River running just south of the downtown area, alongside the airport and near Bank One Ballpark. A trip to Phoenix will show that there�s nothing but a dry gully where maps (and signs on bridges over the chasm) say the river is. That�s because the Salt is dammed to the northeast of the city, sent off in canals to irrigate the surrounding suburbs. But north and east of Phoenix, the Salt flows wild and free in the hilly desert, and the tubing run is popular with kids and adults, many of whom bring along lots of alcohol and a few drugs too.

Mindy, Michelle and Jen left town early, but Mike, Barb, Joe, Mia, Bryan, Kim, Kelli and I hit the river. It takes us a while to get organized, stopping at Walmart to buy $$$ worth of water toys and shoes. After that, we meet Kelli and Kim at a supermarket and finally take to the road for the river. We take the long way to get there, and make the deposits for the tubes � one for each of us and another for the cooler we bought for the drinks, sunscreen, a few snacks and lots of ice. The ninth tube is smaller, as everyone gets, and when we disembark from the bus and carry everything down to the river (humming Springsteen here), Mike reassures everyone, �I�ve got Mini-Me.� The name sticks throughout the afternoon and becomes an ongoing joke and memory of the trip.

The hot, scorching desert sun makes it feel like the 99 or 100 degrees the thermometer reads, but when we put our feet into the Salt River � struggling over the rocks at the entry point � the water feels cold, and it actually takes a moment to get used to it. But from then on, all the way down the river, the cool water and the breeze off the top of it made it feel just a little bit like a comfortable summer day. All that time out in the sun seems to add up, and the rays feel stronger. We apply the sunscreen liberally, passing it around it every half hour by the end of the trip. I, for one, and maybe some others, struggle with some in my eyes.

The trip begins pleasant and leisurely, all eight of us linked together in a circle with Mini-Me holding the cooler in the middle. We place towels on top of the black tubes to keep them out of direct sunlight. Before long, we start tossing around the balls we�d bought and whacking each other with the noodles. A little further, and some of us break off from the group, and it�s a while before we reunite. Throughout the four-hour journey, we pass drunk and friendly groups, some smoking, many drinking, a few topless women. People jump off various cliffs along either side of the river, splashing us and others who float by. One stretch of rough water � rapids, we call them, since just a little disturbance in the flow rocks the tubes � break us into two groups, with Mike and Barb holding Mini Me in the second group. And then Mini-Me breaks loose. Those of us downriver look back in helpless horror as Mini-Me rides up and over the rocks causing the rapids on the river. Mike, Barb and Joe in the second group watch as Mini Me bobs ahead of them. We all cry and laugh looking at one another and our helpless provisions in between.

Finally, the river smoothes out and rounds a bend. We pull over to the left bank and Bryan brings in Mini Me and we wait for the others to catch up with us. From that point, we believe in the awesome power and unmatched bravado of our tube-with-a-cooler in it, Mini Me.

Along a stretch of the river called �the Beach,� where partiers and barbequers can park within a tube�s roll of the water, the crowd is huge � and so is the trash. We use this point � the first and only other pick-up point on the river before the end from where we started � for a break, landing along the crowded side of the river. Across the water, people jump from the cliffs overhead. An inebriated woman swims up to us, asking if she could �kick it� with us for a while. We let her, and she sits there talking with us as we organize ourselves for a while.

By the end of the afternoon, we�re beat and weary � but forever convinced of the amazing power of sunscreen. Not one of us walk away from the river with anything approaching serious burns. In fact, I barely added to the color I�d picked up over the week in Arizona. Leaving the river, we take the short way into town. Along the trip, the desert abruptly ends and the groomed green grasses in front of new southwestern ranch homes begin at the point the �Welcome to Mesa� sign stands. We return to the supermarket where Kelli and Kim left their car, and say goodbye to the two of them as well as Joe, who continues his trip around the West by visiting a friend � though hours late. Bryan, Mia and I take Mike and Barb back to their hotel room and bid them adieu. We go off for dinner somewhere, choosing a diner along Baseline, or one of the roads we�d become familiar with.

Back at Bob�s house, we sit with Kathy, Bob, Karen and the puppies for a short while, then retire to bed. On any trip, the morning of departure, at least by plane, is generally low-key as far as visiting goes, and we eat some breakfast, pack up and leave for Sky Harbor Airport. We drop off the car, then head for our respective gates. Bryan is the first to go, but Mia and I are not far behind. Mia�s airline leaves from a different terminal, so she hops the airport transport for the right gate, and I head off to await my departure, sitting in the chairs, watching a pilot�s son run around the gate area while I wait for my delayed flight to be announced. And I begin writing this memory.