It started innocently enough…

On a Tuesday, you get a text that says:

“Let’s go tubing. It’ll be fun.”

Which, by the way, is almost never true.

Because if someone has to reassure you that something will be fun, there’s already reason to believe it won’t be.

But hey… semantics.

But like a fish, you take the bait, hook, line, and sinker, and several days later, you find yourself in a group of 17 people, sunscreen in hand, with one goal:

“Float down the river.”

Now, this is an important distinction: those 17 people aren’t your 17 people.

They’re your wife’s 17 people.

Which means these are people you’re more friendly with than friends with. People you see at a wedding and not on a Wednesday.

And for the record, 17 people is an insane number of people to do anything with.

More on that to come.

Floating the river is one of those “let’s do something different this Saturday” deals where you meet at a random-ass parking lot, get picked up in a school bus by a bus driver with a big eye, and are dropped off at the top of a “river,” which is really more of a stream that definitely doesn’t double as a sewage runoff for the county.

Then you float downstream until you reach the other end, where that same bus driver glances at his watch and picks you up.

Simple.

Except there are 17 of you.

17 fckin’ people holding 17 fckin’ inner tubes, which means you effectively have 34 people trying to get onto a 30-person bus.

This is when the first problem presents itself.

There’s not enough room.

There are people standing outside the bus holding inner tubes and debating what to do.

“What should we do?”

“What should we do?”

“How can we get to the river?” they say under the “Continuous Bussing” sign.

The leader grabs her chin.

“Well…”

She considers the situation.

“What if…” She pauses. “What if we take TWO buses?”

Someone objects, and spit flies out of their mouth.

“But we won’t be together!”

They say it like they’re in The Lord of the Rings, about to take Mount Doom.

The leader waves this away.

“We can just wait.”

Most people nod, seemingly mollified, while a few others look like they just got told they need a root canal.

And you remind yourself that hate is a strong word.

So off you split and take the last bus, savoring the waning moments of peace.

Thirty minutes later, you’re standing at the edge of the river, inner tube in hand, and encounter the second problem.

Grouping.

The group wants to be tied together.

Because apparently, the ideal way to experience nature is to make sure you’re physically attached to 16 other people, who you’ll be spending the next three hours with.

But according to the 15-year-old running the show, she can only do seven.

Maybe eight if the bus driver isn’t looking.

There is some back-and-forth. Faces are made. Arguments are presented. And eventually, she is persuaded to allow one group of seven and one group of ten.

So off and down the river you go.

The first group is 50 yards ahead… and this is driving the leader crazy.

“We gotta catch up! WE GOTTA CATCH UP!”

The group leader cries.

So now it’s a mad rush.

One blob of people chasing another blob of people, which, as history suggests, rarely ends well.

Water splashes.

People yell.

And the stick—the literal stick they gave you to steer your inner tube with, one per group—is breaking against the rocks.

But the pressure piles on.

“Faster! Faster!”

And with some determination, you not only catch up but pass them.

This presents the third problem.

In your group of ten, half the people want to race. The other half want to be tied together.

So you have this speed-up-and-slow-down effect that satisfies nobody, especially the 70 people behind you who have no idea what the hell you’re doing.

But finally.

FINALLY.

The leader calls the shot.

“Let’s just tie to them.”

And so you do.

There are now 17 people tied together, covering 20 feet of a 30-foot-wide river like a rolling dam.

All around you, groups of three, four, sometimes five people look on in horror as they try to navigate around you.

Their heads turn a full 90 degrees as confused expressions cover their faces.

And honestly, you’re wondering the same thing.

But that…

That is just the warm-up.

Where things really slow down is the desire for someone to take a break.

Well, the desire for 16 other people to take a break, which happens quite literally every seven minutes.

It goes like this:

“Hey… you guys wanna pull off here?”

They say this after grabbing a tree branch, digging their heels into the riverbed, and guiding the entire barge to a stop.

So this isn’t really much of an ask as it is a demand.

Which is pretty crazy because the whole float-on-the-river-or-stream experience is designed to be a break.

You don’t take breaks from the lazy river.

You just be lazy on the river.

That’s the deal.

At first, you try to get behind it.

Go pee in the woods.

Not right next to 17 people you hardly know, so close that they can feel the warmth coming from you.

But after the fourth break, people aren’t even getting out to pee anymore.

They’re stopping to talk.

Which is the same thing they’re doing on the river.

Only now they’re standing in three inches of water, holding an inner tube around their waist, discussing what everyone should do next.

After about eight of these, the group is split.

Half the people want to float. Half the people want to chill.

The front looks back.

The back looks forward.

And nobody says anything, but instead feels the tension rising.

Because this is what happens when you invite a classroom full of people to do anything.

Still, the resentment floats downstream.

Until slowly, people break off, one by one.

You’re the fifth person to unstrap and let nature run her course.

It’s the closest you’ve felt to independence since moving out of your parents’ house.

A few of the boys from the group, playing in the water, see you breaking free.

They chase after you.

“We’ll save you!”

You tell them it’s intentional.

And you can see the pain in their eyes.

So slowly, you drift down the river toward the landing.

Alone.

Peaceful.

No one asking to stop.

No one grabbing a tree.

No one asking what we should do.

Just you.

Your inner tube.

And a river moving at approximately the speed of a person thinking about moving.

Then you reach the landing.

And wait for them to return.

Eventually, the now 12-person flotilla appears around the bend.

Someone is waving.

Someone is yelling.

And someone has stopped to talk to someone on the shore.

You watch them approach, frowning.

And realize you are going to have to get back on the bus with all of them.

Well… two buses.

Because that’s what happens when you float with 17 people.

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, share and tell me what you think. Would this drive you crazy?

 

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT! My new book, Letters From Jasper, is out. If you’re looking for a funny and sad read that will make you laugh and cry – please check it out. PLOT:A dying father hits the road to reconnect with his estranged son, but things take a turn when he gets falsely accused of being his kidnapper.

Perfect for anyone who likes humor and heart reads or has ever had a dead parent. Here it is: Amazon.com: Letters From Jasper eBook : Winn, Anthony: Kindle Store

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