Trust Me, That Looks A Whole Lot Worse Than It Really Was

This Saturday, I escorted Lauren and two of her friends down to Glenwood Springs for a little adrenaline fueled mayhem. Or as the locals like to call it, whitewater rafting.

Having grown up on the beach, you would think Lauren would have developed a bit of a comfort level around large bodies of water. You’d be wrong. I place the blame squarely on the Fares family and their unadulterated love of conversation. My theory is that for the last 20 years, Fred, Rosalie and the kids would set up camp on the 4th street beach sometime around noon, and promptly begin discussing the goings on in their respective lives. The next time they looked up, it would be 5:30, and nobody would have so much as shifted their chair to face the sun, let alone headed down to the ocean. Over time, Lauren’s subconscious mind began to associate water with the need to stop talking. Left unchecked, this developed into a debilitating phobia.

Armed with life vests, windbreakers, and a disposable camera, we set out to change all that. For Lauren, this would be a huge step forward. For those of you who’ve never been, whitewater rafting basically involves eight people piling into an inflatable raft and rocketing down-river, ricocheting off rocks and perilously negotiating rapids, your life in the hands of a college drop-out “guide” who still smells faintly of marijuana. If my wife could handle this, she could handle pretty much anything.

Whoops. The video you see above is our raft, desperately attempting to survive the toughest rapid of the day, a little doozy called “Satan’s Prostate.” (OK, I made the name up. But it sounds tough, doesn’t it?) Lauren is in the third row towards the back on the left. I am right behind her. As you can see, things were going smoothly for a bit, until the useless right side of the boat let us down and stopped paddling. At that point, we got hung up on the rocks, and chaos ensued. Looks like that debilitating phobia isn’t going anywhere soon.

Of course, I’m lying about all this. The trip went great. Glenwood Canyon, recently anointed one of America’s ten most scenic places, was as beautiful as advertised. Our boat was badass, and we cruised through the rapids like it was our job, unlike those nimrods on the video. Along the way, we were able to stop and jump into natural hotsprings, which are pools of water that have been superheated by the earths core to a soothing 115 degrees Fahrenheit.

The undeniable highlight of the trip, however, came during the calmest stretch of the day. As we were rafting above the deepest part of the river, our guide told us we could jump in and swim if we so pleased. Being an experienced waterman (did I ever tell you about the time I won the Gold in the 1000 foot doubles in the Islands?), I dove in. Lauren’s friends soon followed. You’ll never believe what happened next. Lauren, my formerly hydrophobic wife, stood up on the inflatable raft, and without a hint of caution, launched herself into the Colorado River. And I have the pictures to prove it.

In fact, we have dozens of pictures from the day, all of which are forthcoming. See you then.