Date: 2004-06-12
From: Georgia

To: Maine
Miles today: 15.0
Weather: overcast clouds

Shenandoah RiverMidway along 75-mile tripWednesdayMidday we pass beneath a bridge and come to the obstruction created bythe old bridge, sitting right at water level, left there long after itwas outmoded. I try and swing the canoe far to the right of it, towhat appears the easiest take-out spot. PG is shouting to go the otherway. But it's too late. Suddenly the canoe slams sidelong into thewater level concrete bridge. Immediately it threatens to barrel roll asthe oncoming water hits us, trapped. I leap out and with bare feet inwaist deep water keep the canoe from flipping. But I can't do muchelse. The pull of the current is strong. I feel something slice myleft foot. Broken bottle, likely. We AT thruhikers zealously pack in and out our own trash, and even nowhere on the river are collecting every empty, every cigarette butt,every wrapper, for later disposal. But not so of the rest of theworld. Every time the AT crosses a road in the forest, someplace wherecar campers can come, there's a mound of trash. We manage together to sidle the canoe to the edge of the river andclear the old bridge. I check my foot. A good sized gash. Nothinganother day or two of water and shoeless canoe living won't cure. Wemove on. And suddenly I'm startled awake by the sound of rushing water. Have Islept? Sprawled on my life jacket against the rear of the canoe, I wasout cold for who knows how long. When I come to there in the sunshineand heat and doldrums of midday, I notice that both PG and Spiceman arealso asleep. A rock is dead ahead. I grab my oar and jam it in. Teafor the tillerman. The boat turns just in time and we miss the rock. "PG! Where were you?" She rolls out of a siesta haze. She is pointman, after all. It was a close one. But it was fun, too. I gottaadmit. I don't know how we all fell asleep at the same time.Party Girl walks down a lonesome country road away from our camp by theriver. "Hey PG," I shout after her. "If you get in any trouble downthe road, anyone try to molest ya, just squeal like a pig and we'llcome running to your aide." Deliverance jokes abound down here.But Virginia is beautiful, no question. Colossal castles of cumulousrise up into the heavens, there bottoms blue as oceans, their topsgilded in the late afternoon sun, already set behind the mountains forus but still shining on way up there. The river wends its way on and on and when we ask folks along the waywhere we are, no one seems to know. It's like a dream and we're all init together, PG, Spiceman, me, the young girls swimming in theshallows, the boys swinging from the rope swing, the old dudes standingwaist deep in the water fishing, fishermen on boats as well. No onequite knows where we're at. But Spiceman asks the same two questionsfor days. To the fisherman, "Catch anything?" and always the answerno. To everyone and anyone, "Where are we?" No one knows.And the little bastions of human life come and go. Most of the time onthe river we are alone. I stand up, first in the canoe and later rightup on the rear plank playing master balancer, the circus performer,showoff. I have astounding balance. Standing up as we drop into a shallowtrough of rapids without falling or needing to sit, I am an Indianscout on birch bark canoe. I begin to hum and moan and wail like apossessed man, like a blues man, like a freed slave still bound bysharecrop servitude. I sing an old slave song at the top of my lungs. I don't know any old slave songs. But the spirit is in me, and theriver waters are thick with voices of the past. I tap into them, tossin a handful of amen¢s and "oh my lords" and "Jesus gonna save my souls"and it's sounding real good. I keep it up for hours, irreverent of who's listening and oblivious ofthe apparent disinterest in my singing from my canoe mates. I'm havingfun, and so far no one's complaining.-RSM For the full story of Rick's journey, visit Jigglebox.com