It is supposed to rain for the next week straight and since my desk is located right next to a window displaying a grey, grimy, rain-sodden day, I am in no mood whatsoever to get any work done. (Any excuse would do really...)

So I just returned from an AWESOME vacation down on the River Kwai. Actually, it was the Colorado River - you know, the one that runs through Grand Canyon (Vince will be so proud that I didn't use "the"). If you fail to recall anything about me, then I tell you now that this is the white water rafting trip that Vincent and I planned a year or so ago when we were still dating. It was one of those things that we just forced ourselves to pay for before we could protest.

And I am so happy we did it...

We spent one night in Las Vegas before the start of our outdoor adventure, and for once it was well worth the price of admission, if only to come home with a picture of Michelle as a Borg from the Star Trek Experience at the Hilton. Now if she ever chooses to defy me, I will dedicate a site to the hairless Borg, Michelle! Mwhahahahahahahaaaa...!

Unfortunately, even though Mel (yet another college roommate of mine) was also in Las Vegas that weekend, we didn't manage to meet up, mostly due to the fact that I am an old lady trapped in a 24-year-old body who needs to regulate her sleep and be in bed by the crack of sunset....

In any case, Vincent and I flew out to Marble Canyon on Sunday, September 5th, in the smallest plane I've ever ridden (with one minor exception: the initial flying lesson Vincent gave me in a Cesna last year). The plane was one of those "into the brush" type of planes, where you actually have to wear earphones to block the noise out.

Of course, being so 'ittle, the views out the window were SPECTACULAR. We flew right over Marble Canyon, and sometimes it looked as though we were inside of it. I'm not really sure I could point out our route on a map, but when we landed, we were on a dirt strip in the middle of the desert with nothing but a one-horse town to greet us.

We were staying at the Marble Canyon Lodge, which for all intents and purposes was the only housing facility in sight. There was one general store, one restaurant, one gas station/convenience store, one post office, and one lodge/conference center. That was it. As far as the eye could see, nothing but red desert and mountains in the distance.

It seemed like the only people, other than various rafters, paddlers, kayakers and the like, that were staying at the Lodge were bikers. So it was us and the leather-clad, sun-branded, tatooed men and women of the Harley Davidson clan. I thought it was kind of odd that, of all the places in the world to travel, some bikers found themselves on this lonely stretch of road, in the middle of nowhere, AZ. It all reaked of confusion to me...

No matter. We met our fellow Outdoors Unlimited travelers and guides later that evening. In total, there were 23 of us: a family of 3 from New Jersey, 2 couples from Michigan, 3 coworkers from Utah, 1 couple from Kansas, 2 ladies from New Hampshire, 7 guides from Oregon and Northern California, and 1 stag from Sterling frickin' Massachusetts! (I still can't get over someone on that trip being from the next town over from my home town - unreal!)

Now, if I had my DSL working yet, I would have pictures for you all to view, but honestly, I just got back from vacation, still haven't settled my apartment yet, and DEFINITELY haven't had time to set up my computer.

So, back to day one on the river. By some time later in the day on Monday, the 6th, we finally donned our bulky, awkward, yellow life vests and put our boats into the water. Vince and I were on the one paddle boat with the couple from Kansas (Hunter and Alex dropped out of the trip at the last minute - I'm guessing it's because they broke up and Hunter went ahead and married another girl (who incidentally, was 7 months pregnant at the time of the trip with Hunter's baby)), but there were 5 oar boats on the trip too. Two boats were for gear - kitchen stuff, toilets, trash, sleeping bags, tents, etc. - and the other three for passengers. The difference between the two kinds of boats are that paddle boats are smaller, lighter and powered by 6 individual paddlers, while the oar boats have two huge wooden oars and are powered by a single guide.

I must admit that I am very proud of Vince. First for even electing to go on the paddle boat, second for toughing it out in nature without complaint, and third for actually having a good time! He only fell out of the boat once during the whole trip, thus becoming our one and only inaugeral swimmer, and he was totally into the paddling portion of the whole trip. It was nice to see him out-of-doors not whining about ticks, or mosquitos, or poison ivy, or sleeping on the ground, or pain, or anything. He actually fit in with the whole serenity of nature karma.

Before I go on, I should probably point out that I am not going to fill in all the details of EVERY WAKING MOMENT on my blog, but if you want an alternate view, you can always look at Vince's website.

Anywho...

So there were five days floating/paddling down the river. I can't really explain to you what happens to an individual once they travel out into nature like that. We didn't run into any other people for any significant periods of time, and we turned into some sort of (dys)functional family. There is no noise pollution, no light pollution, no 7-Eleven. Just you, your portable toilet (really a green ammo can with a toilet seat fitted on top), and all the golf-ball sized bats nature can throw at you. It's magical to me that there are any places on earth like that left anymore.

Vince and I even had a little routine: up at 5:30AM, dress for the day, pack the waterproof bags, eat breakfast, wash up, white-water rafting, eat lunch, white-water rafting, hiking, write in our journals, eat dinner, go to sleep. It really was living life simply.

Of course, life isn't without it's foibles. I began drinking so much water during the day that the paddle boat should have been renamed the "piddle" boat. Every hour (at least) I had to ask Robyn (the paddle boat guide) to pull to shore for a pee break. We'd go all forward and paddle like crazy people to hit a beach because I was wearing paddle paints, which meant that I could piddle in them, but then I would have to sit in a puddle of my own urine for the rest of the day (i.e. the pants are waterproof - both inside and out). It turned into the big group joke - me and my pea-sized bladder, a genetic defect thanks to my lovely mother.

Although in my defense, I will say that everyone who rafted with me for the day (there were plenty of spots open so people could switch boats each day) was happy that we made so many potty stops. I think that most people were afraid to stand tall, stand proud, and declare, "I must piddle, NOW!"

And thus concludes the potty talk portion of my blog...

In fact, that concludes today's portion of my Blog. I have many, many things to accomplish today and here I am, wasting my time talking to myself! I will write later, if I can...