I'm writing this post days after the craziness went down because I simply felt like before now, there was no way I was capable of writing anything, much less writing about some drama. Tonight, after a nap after work, a gluten-free pizza with my family, I feel rejuvenated enough to try to tackle a post.
Last Friday was the start of the insanity. I was at work; George was home alone with the kitties. He hears the fish tank filter motor start and stop and work to start again. He assumes that the filter is getting old and is simply dying - a reasonable conclusion since we've had said filter for more years than a filter probably is meant to last. So, George unplugs it. And then he hears other motors and electrical devices begin to behave erratically. The lights dimmed and then everything plugged into our living room surge protector went out. The surge protector is smoldering and the house stinks of electrical burning. Poor George. He trooped down to the basement to examine the fuze box to see if we had blow a fuze. Nothing, not a one. So he experiments by cutting power to various switches, but our house is apparently possessed. So he cuts power to the entire house and calls my dad for help. Dad is in York, PA and not headed home anytime soon. But this is where "being a Hauver" has its benefits -- Dad has a friend who is a trained electrician! Dad has many, many useful friends all of whom have saved us at one time or another. So Dad's electrician friend, Lonnie, comes over and works with George to find the problem. Five hours later, they are kicking themselves when they realize the neutral wire outside our house has been severed, probably by a suicidal squirrel. Apparently, they like to chew the metal! George calls Potomac Edison, our power company, who promptly sends out a truck to make the repair. An hour later, all is well, George is rattled and I arrive home from work, knowing nothing about any of this. To combat the smell of the toasted surge protector, George has FeBreezed the entire house. It now smells like burned electrical flowers. It was a valiant effort. He unloads the entire day's events and we both arrive at the conclusion that had he not been home to cut the power, it is likely our house would have burned down from the smoldering circuitry.
We woke up Saturday morning determined that it would be a better day. We were headed out to ASCI (pronounced ASK-ee) in western Maryland. About a two and a half hour drive from Frederick, this place is mecca for competitive kayakers, canoers and whitewater enthusiasts. It is a closed-loop man-made river built for safety. The rocks that create wave features are affixed to the river bottom and engineered so that you cannot become trapped on or underneath one if you are dumped from your vessel. River guards are stationed strategically along the banks, ready to throw you a rope and tow you in if you end up swimming. The loop feature ensures that a swimmer will eventually be spit out into the end pool. The water volume is adjustable using one to four of the pumps on site. For recreational rafting, two and three pumps are used. At the time of our visit, ASCI staff were running two pumps.
We left Frederick under clear skies in the convertible with the top down, both of us wearing shorts and t-shirts. We packed no extra clothes, jackets or anything. We did have our bathing suits, our closed-toed Keens and a beach towel apiece. We passed through Hagerstown, pulling off the road to put the top up. And we drove the rest of the way there in pouring down rain, not a good omen. We arrived to find there was a large event going on at the facility: National Canoe and Kayak Championships. We found the rental equipment booth and each acquired a wetsuit. Oh man, getting that thing on was quite a trick. And of course, I'm changing clothes amidst these perfectly toned super athletes - not good for one's self esteem. So, after I poured myself into my wetsuit, I shuffled outside to realize I cannot wear my glasses while on the boat. Why did I not think about this before? I am so blind without my lenses it is unbelievable. But, unless you have a strap to hold them on (and I would not trust a strap with these babies knowing how expensive they were) you can't wear them. Our group gathers to walk down to the staging barn and George tucks our car key inside his wetsuit. We were encouraged to hand them over to be hung up, but more on that later.
We march over the bridge and get our first good look at the rapids. Gulp. It is chilly and breezy. I am cold and blind, so of course I am whiny, whimpering and crying. We get to the barn and are given life vests, helmets and oars. These life vests are excellent with four clasps holding together in case any fail while in use. We get paired with a group of four guys, making six total rafters in our boat plus our guide, BamBam.
Lesson One: Do not get into boats with people named BamBam.
We learn that the guys are doing this as part of a bachelor party. They are hung over in a bad way. I think the dude beside me does not have any interest in rafting. I learn later that I am right. We exchange names. Larry, Moe, Curly and Lazy are all in their mid-forties and are not exactly in great shape. We carry the raft down to the staging pool and take turns climbing in. BamBam teaches us the basics: how to row forward and how to row backward. If he says "Right, forward 2!" then the people on the right take two forward strokes. If he yells, "Bump!" learn in to the center so you don't fall out. I think to myself that, "this is not too hard" and. "I think I can do this". I am so totally wrong.
Lesson Two: You have the right to refuse to raft with people you are assigned to. If you do not feel safe, don't do it. Ask to be put with a family. The guides are very careful with children. If you cannot get out of that bad group, walk away from the experience. You will thank me later.
Up we go, up the conveyer belt, on our raft, headed for fun, adventure and thrills on the high seas. Wrong! We get to the launching pool, 25 feet higher than where we will ultimately finish, we bump into a rock, the raft bounces off and somehow George and I end up in the water, swimming. We get to the shore and are standing fairly quickly. "This is ominous," says the voice in my head. We load back in and away we go. George and I quickly realize that it does not matter what directions BamBam yells at us, these guys cannot paddle worth a crap. Somehow we make it back to the staging pool, and I am thrilled that I am still in the raft, although it has not occurred to me that falling out is a common occurrence. BamBam encourages us to listen to him and to work together as a team. I think these guys are already on the Johnny Walker team and are preoccupied.
Round 2 goes fine, but we encountered every single obstacle and feature... backwards. That's right. On approach, BamBam would yell directions and Larry, Moe, Curly and Lazy would sometimes sort of follow them a little bit. For me, it was terrifying to be myopic and trying to raft, but rafting backwards was a whole new nightmare. Had I known that was a possibility, I do not think I would have gotten in the raft.
And now we arrive at the drama. Round 3. I like to call it Round 2.25...
Lesson Three: If you manage to complete an entire circuit of the course backwards and have not fallen out of the raft, get out now. The odds are no longer in your favor and yu should expect to swim. If you don't like that outcome, get out of the boat NOW.
It is my turn to sit in the front of the boat, right-hand side. Friends, I now refer to this position as "the ejector seat".
Lesson Four: Never sit in the ejector seat. It functions exactly as named.
Over the first drop we go and surprise, surprise, the boat ends up backwards again. Larry, Moe, Curly and Lazy aren't paddling and we are moving downstream and a pretty swift pace. And then the rear of the boat (remember, it is technically the front at the point) strikes an obstacle. Normally, the raft bounces off, but at the point, the sheer volume of water presses against our raft and instead of bouncing, it buckles. And I find myself in the water. Moe, who was in the front on the other side, looses his balance and falls in too, on top of me. I am now on the bottom of a river with rapids, underneath of a 250+ pound man. This situation is very bad.
I am an excellent swimmer. I have been trained as a lifeguard, taught deep water safety, ocean swimming safety, river and lake safety, etc. I am as educated as one could possibly hope to be in my situation. I have had two friends lose their lives by drowning. I have almost drowned twice myself. I know how this can pan out, even if I do everything right. So, I start trying.
The best thing to do when someone is trying to use your body to get up to the surface is fight them off. I know this sounds terrible and silly, but I kicked and punched at Moe and he got away from me pretty fast. Making yourself as unappealing as possible ends up being a good thing. I surfaced alone, only to find myself under the freaking raft. I get sucked back into the currents and come up again under the boat. I clearly remember seeing the brown and white water swirling above me. I pop up again and smash into a rock. I think I banged my head, but my helmet was on! I remember looking at BamBam and him saying slowly and gently, "swim for the shore, sweetheart." Was it really in slow motion or was it me? I tried to grip the rock, just to get air, but I was swept back into the current. It was a calm surface of fast moving water, headed for the next drop. A river guard yelled to us to see if we needed help. After swallowing more than a few cups of nastiness, I choked out, "Rope! Here! Now!" He threw it. The rope landed spread across the water in front of me but the current took it away. The guard yelled at me to swim for it and from somewhere came the strength to make four of the most powerful strokes I've ever swum. I do not remember being towed in. I do not remember getting to the side. I do remember the guard yelling into my face, "Are you OK?" At which point, I started shaking and crying. I expelled some of what I had downed. I announced, "I am done." And I meant it. I discovered that the current had sucked my Keen right off my right foot and the side of my foot hurt terribly. I looked down to find a nasty abrasion on the side of my foot caused by coming into contact with the rock and concrete surface of the river rocks. I am bleeding enough that the guard sends for a cart to come and take me to the medical station. I am still crying.
I decide to doctor myself because the cut was deep and I didn't want anyone touching it or me. I get myself bandaged up (poorly) and go to wait for George, who finished the run and got dropped off at the launching pool at the top of the course. He finds I have bled through the BandAid and am still crying. He retrieves our dry clothes from the car, we get changed and return our wetsuits. Before we leave, I walk down and tearfully thank the river guide who drug me out. I know deep down that had I gone over the next drop, things would have been much, much worse. He hugs me.
Lesson Five: There are good people in the world. Some of them will even watch out for you. A few might even throw you a rope.
We leave and I am shivering. I am in shock. George gets me a coke (for sugar) and a hot cocoa (more sugar and warm). He feeds me. He stops at a souvenir store and buys me another shirt to layer up and graciously rides the entire two and half hours home with the heat on full blast, despite the fact that I know he was uncomfortable.George did not get to see everything unfold. He knew when he fell out that I had fallen out too. He kept counting people, but could not find me until I was already on the shore and the drama was over. My only other saving grace is that I had asked my parents to come along and watch us raft, but they were busy with other things. I am so grateful that they were not there to wait during those moments while I was trying to surface, but under the raft. I do not wish for them to see that.
I spent Sunday very subdued. I have napped extensively through the day. George says I have a very flat affect. I am just in shock. Yet, I had not decided that rafting is not for me. I have not concluded that this is something I don't want to do. I understood the inherent risks when we booked our seats and signed the company waivers. I understood what I was getting into when I climbed into the raft with those bozos. Did I think it would turn out as badly as it did? Of course not! It remains to be seen if I shall tackle this again in the immediate future, but at least the desire is there.
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