I hope this story will help take your mind off all the nonsense going on in Washington. It helped me to recall some warm memories that even our politicians' behavior can't soil.
When I was around 12 and my brother was 10, our dad decided to take us on a journey he promised we would never forget.
We lived in Indianapolis, and our dad had somehow ended up owning a two-person canvas and wood kayak. It had been hanging unused from the ceiling of our garage for several years. One summer day, for reasons known only to him, he pulled it down and decided to take his two boys on what he called the adventure of a lifetime.
The following Saturday, we loaded the kayak onto the roof of our car. Along with our mom and our older sister, we drove about 20 miles west to a bridge that crossed over a tributary of the White River called White Lick Creek.
Dad said the creek meandered southwest, and he knew the location of another bridge about 15 miles away by car where the creek again passed by. He provided driving directions to the girls and told them to meet us at the second bridge a couple of hours later.
Dad always seemed to know everything and could do just about anything. I learned that day, while he did know and could do a lot of things, he didn't know what he didn't know. He clearly didn't know just how much more distance a meandering creek would travel than roads. And he also apparently hadn't thought about the speed of a kayak on a slow-moving stream compared to a car.
We removed the kayak from the car and carried it through thick brush down to the edge of the creek. Getting the kayak and us into the water went smoothly. My brother and I were both pretty small in stature, so we were able to snuggly share the rear seat. We had no flotation devices or provisions — after all, the trip was only supposed to last a couple of hours, and what could go wrong?
I will never forget the look of glee on Dad's face as he shoved off from shore on our adventure.
We had two paddles. He handed one back to us and told us to take turns paddling, but only when and how he told us to do so. My brother and I had no paddling skills because we had never been in any sort of kayak or canoe.
In spite of that, we were happily off! Dad did most of the paddling, which to be honest didn't seem that difficult because we were going downstream in a slow-moving current, and all he really had to do was keep the small craft in the center of the stream.
It was smooth sailing, and Dad was clearly enjoying playing the dual roles of paddler and nature guide — until we came around a curve and faced a turbulent set of rapids.
My brother and I didn't even think about paddling. We were too busy holding on for dear life. Somehow Dad managed to keep the kayak under control, and we came out safely into a calm area. Dad turned around with another confident smile, as if to say, “Wasn't that great?”
We had traveled a couple of hours when we started asking him when we were going to get to the other bridge. Don't worry, he would confidently reply, it's just around the next bend or two.
Before long, we came to another set of rapids where we bottomed out on some sharp-edged rocks and ripped a huge hole in the kayak's bottom. We learned that a wooden and canvas kayak sinks very quickly when it springs a large leak.
There we sat, up to our necks in a couple of feet of rushing water. My brother and I were more amused than afraid. Instead of his usual smile, Dad shared a few curse words to show he was not happy!
We managed to crawl out of the boat and helped Dad drag the kayak to shore. He said he couldn't repair it there, so we were going to have to carry it out. He told us we couldn't be more than a mile or so from the destination bridge.
So we picked up the 100-pound or so kayak, my brother and I at the rear and Dad leading the way. We made it for about 30 minutes through fairly dense brush when my brother and I told Dad we couldn't continue. We then dragged the boat up an embankment for safekeeping until we could return to get it.
So off we went, three soaked travelers with no provisions, trudging along the creek bank looking for the bridge that Dad kept saying had to be around the next bend. Four hours, and many bends later, we made it! Our mom and sister were crying because they thought we had drowned. We never saw the kayak again.
Throughout his life, Dad often reminded us of our trip of a lifetime, and he was absolutely right. It was a great adventure I will never forget!
My brother now has severe dementia. When I began to read him this story on the phone, he took over and recalled every detail.
Mike Tower
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