1999
Uncle Wally's Wierder-Than-Real Paddling Adventures 1: Boats
by Uncle Wally
Well, sometimes a fella's just gotta learn the hard way. But at least she didn't say "I told you so" afterwards.
The four of us were out havin' some fun on the Kettle, sneaking in one last run together before Kelly had to fly out of town. The water was up; just perfect. And you know how it is: it's easy to lose track of time when you're out playing in whitewater. It was getting kinda late by the time we hit the take out. And Kelly still had a plane to catch.
So we quick pitched the kayaks up top of the truck, strapped them down, and piled back in to run shuttle. Beth and I offered to leave all four boats on our truck so Jack and Kelly could retrieve their car and high-tail it to the airport. This was fortunate as they were spared being witness to the upcoming carnage.
Before we headed home ourselves, Beth stepped back and eyed our hasty car-topping job suspiciously. "Don't you think we ought to run bow lines down to the bumper or something?" she asked, in a tone that suggested I'd be dumb as dirt if I didn't. "Nah" I replied, "don't need 'em The boats'll be fine. Always have been before."
Now, I don't know about you, but I really like these new, higher, freeway speeds. I spend far too much time drivin' to and from the river and anything that shaves a little time off my commute suits me just fine. Seems to play the devil with the aerodynamics of watercraft carried topside on one's vehicle, however. Don't know exactly how it happened, but I had just achieved cruising speed when all of a sudden I heard a loud, musical "ping" and then the truck leaped forward a tad, as if I had just put spurs to it. I was still tryin' to figure out what was wrong with the engine when a symphony of squealing tires jerked my head up to check the rearview mirror. There I could see the car headlights behind us raking through the night at oddly disturbing, divergent angles. Even then, I didn't quite get it. It took the subdued anguish of Beth's "Oh my god -- the boats:" to make the ugly reality finally sink in.
Then I hit the brakes pretty quick and pulled off onto the shoulder. Sure enough, the top of the truck was as empty as a politician's promise. Now, a truck without a kayak on top of it looks pretty naked. But a truck suddenly deprived of four kayaks looks positively bereaved. And I felt a little sick.
I tried to be philosophical about it as we backed slowly along the shoulder in search of our truant kayaks. I mean, the average guy cruisin' down I-35 in his Ford Explorer has no clue what it feels like to be speared by a kayak, right? So it was an educa-tional experience of sorts for the land-bound, wasn't it? But even in the dark I could read enough of Beth's face to realize she wasn't going to be a willing student of philosophy that night. So I kept the thought to myself.
Lucky for me, we found three of the boats right away. They were lying scattered along the ditch, not much the worse for the wear, really. The new, highway scratches blended seamlessly with the old, river scratches. With luck, Kelly'd never know that her kayak had been racking up frequent flier miles the same time she was. Beth tied her boat on by herself this time. And if there was poetic justice in the fact that it was my boat that was still missing, she didn't mention it. The silence was pretty thick.
Well, we finally did locate my boat, after circling the two, adjacent freeway exits a couple of times. It was doing a perfect back ender in the median. Sad thing was, when we got right up to it, we saw that only the front half of the boat was performing: the back half had been smashed flat. My kayak was road kill. I'll sure miss that old Dancer. But I'm darned glad I wasn't paddlin' it when that semi ran over it:
Well. 'til next time, keep your paddle wet. And keep in touch. Drop me a note C/O Mickey McBride, 8191 Belden Blvd., Cottage Grove MN 55016 or mickeymcb@worldnet.att. net and let me know your most memorable equipment failure, or your most interesting animal encounter . . or anything else you'd care to share. Remember, Uncle Wally promises to 1) tell the truth so nobody'd ever believe it anyhow and 2) never reveal your true identity to anyone, not even your former mother-in-law.
