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The Five Pearls

Hotel Confidential

Chasing God’s River

A novel

Barry James Hickey This is a work of fiction. All name, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book or parts thereof, may not be reproduced, transmitted or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Contact: [email protected] Or visit our website at: www.tumblebrushpress.com To Jason, Randy and Linda for their support and friendship

TABLE OF CONTENTS 1 BANKING IT 1 2 THE GREEN DOT 5 3 TRUTH AND DARE 16 4 THE MESSENGER 20 5 PREPARATIONS 22 6 FLYING SOLO 29 7 MILES APART 39 8 BIG JOHN'S 63 9 AFTER MIDNIGHT 79 10 SHRINK TO FIT 86 11 PEOPLE ARE STRANGE 93 12 SALIDA 106 13 VICTORIA'S OTHER SECRETS 113 14 RIVER OF SORROWS 116 15 PARADOX 135 16 DOWN THE SEWER 152 17 THE GLOVE IS DROPPED 158 18 HOME PHONE 167 19 YOU CAN'T GET THERE FROM HERE 171 20 AND THEY'RE OFF 178 21 THROUGH BROWN'S CANYON 196 22 THE ROYAL GORGE 212 23 WAR WOUNDS 228 24 HOME SWEET HOME 231

BANKING IT

Wade Jones stood in the shower and yawned. He had originally planned his day for the garage, stripping the antique nightstand that he and his wife Katie had found at the yard sale in Hillerman Heights the previous weekend. Instead, what he got was an eight-thirty phone call from Doctor Lieverman’s assistant. The doctor wanted to check his remaining testicle again, grab another blood and urine test for tumor markers, get a serum testosterone level and maybe try to bank some sperm. “Just a simple lube job,” the doctor’s assistant quipped over the phone. His female doctor was a godsend, an excellent physician with good information. Because of her, he might become a father some day and for that, he was grateful. The cancer could have spread to his abdominal lymph nodes, lungs, bones, liver, maybe even his brain. Katie was the one who noticed the signs – he was losing weight, eating less and complaining of lower back pain. The back pain he attributed to old sports injuries. But one night, while attempting to make love, Wade complained of pain in his scrotum and when Katie playfully ran her fingers over his nipples he pulled her hand away. “That hurts,” he had apologized. The next day, his wife ordered him to get a physical. After that, his personal physician sent him to Doctor Lieverman and the race against cancer was on. He rinsed off the hair conditioner and watched the froth puddle at his feet. Wade had done a lot of work around the house, even before the cancer was found. Finding a job was the last thing he wanted to pursue. He had a college degree. He was six- feet tall and smart, good-looking for thirty-five. He was also a kayaking hero to a handful of somebodies somewhere. The cancer was just an inconvenience. Wade knew what he had to do to get back in the real world soon. The only nibble at an opportunity was a commission job shaving down fiberglass surfboards and kayaks at a local beach shop, but the owner was taking a “wait and see” approach because of the cancer, promising Wade a space when a clean bill of health was provided. Wade ran his fingers along his deadened pink scar. He had a bikini line now, a four-inch incision running across the lower abdomen on his left side from the orchiectomy – a surgery to remove one of his beloved testicles using an inguinal incision. They put him under general anesthesia during the surgery. The incision sounded like a simple long snip. After she made the cut, the good doctor pushed the left testicle up through the pelvis and out it came with a ‘pop’. A snip, snip, and tie followed. The whole surgery took forty- five minutes. Wade was home the same day before the pain medication wore off. That was almost three months ago. He grabbed a towel and stepped out of the shower stall, thinking of the summer kayaking circuit again. He had made a few secret phone calls in the past few days to old friends, but he was just poking around, making inquiries. Who am I kidding anyway? In the past months, he'd been through the chemotherapy regimens used to kill the cancer and so far it seemed to work. Wade had lost twenty pounds since they found the cancer. Twenty pounds of practiced muscle and sinew. Now the chemo was over and everyone was watching the healing clock. His hair was coming back fine. On his last visit, according to Doctor Lieverman, it seemed the chemo had

2 worked and killed all the germ cells and so it stood to reason that he wasn't going to have a whole lot of sperm anytime soon. At least, no sperm with fish swimming upstream. The good doctor said that for fifty percent of men the sperm counts returned to normal in two to three years and for a select few even sooner. “Depends on the quality of the sperm,” she said. “Like karats in a diamond.” The doctor gave Wade a five-minute pep talk about sperm being genetic and since he had five siblings, it was all looking good. “Good genes,” she reassured him. He banked some sperm before the surgery and the chemo treatments began. A whole vault full. Enough to repopulate an entire city, it seemed. He wondered aloud where they kept all that banked sperm. “Is it a savings account or a checking account? Does it gain interest or lose interest? Do they keep it in a hospital or a mini-storage unit? What happens if the power goes out and the refrigeration is kaput?” A physician’s assistant had examined a sperm sample under a microscope. “You have good sperm. High quality,” she reassured him with a smile. The tumor attached to his lost testicle turned out to be malignant so the sperm bank turned out to be a great idea after all. Doctor Lieverman explained why the surgery was an absolute necessity. Doing a biopsy in that area of a man's body might cause the cancer to cross-contaminate and spread and then he might lose his other “ball.” He didn't know why men called their testes balls. He thought eggs or walnuts a better name. Katie sat through the ultrasound as moral support, talking with the doctor about scrotal sacks and lymph nodes and testicular cancer having a tendency to “run north.” That Katie. Gotta love her. When the pathology report came back from the lab on his removed testicle, everyone was relieved. It appeared Wade

3 had beaten the cancer. So he was down to one remaining testicle. It was all he needed to grow hair, have intercourse, and make babies. Now all he had to do was wait and see if he could get an erection again. After his morning visit to see the doctor, he'd taken his kayak down to San Diego Bay and worked out for almost two hours. He would have paddled in Mission Bay but didn't want to risk the chance of Katie seeing him out on the open water. He was afraid of hurting his wife. She was the center of his universe. After he dressed, Wade contemplated going out to the garage to start stripping the nightstand. He decided to take an afternoon nap instead. It's the water that's missing in our lives. The water. His rivers had run dry and a mean sea had replaced Katie’s lakes. Wade Jones, former world champion kayaker, was ready to change their future. All he needed was a few returned phone calls to start the process. All he needed was the ripple of a small pebble into the stale pond that had become their life together. All he needed was a swift kick in the ass by any old friend to jump-start him again.

4 THE GREEN DOT

The sea was unnaturally calm and not a cloud on the western horizon. Golden time. In a few minutes the sun would dip into the ocean with a wink of a goodbye followed by a final green flash. Katie Jones stood alone, her bare feet dug in the sand at Crown Point, a strand of beach at the end of Jewell Street. Crown Point was just one of many approaches to Mission Bay Park, a massive recreation area with twenty seven miles of Pacific shoreline and nineteen sandy beaches in San Diego. Day’s end was near, but jet skis, open-water kayakers, skiers and an armada of windsurfers darted around the bay like pesky flies on water. There were birds here, too. Migrants and residents. Over at the eastern mud flats, ruddy turnstone, willet, and black- bellied plovers nested. A goofball with a tuft of blue punker hair seemed to have one of its luckless feet stuck too deep in goop to pull itself out. I know the feeling. Katie shook her shoulder-cropped blonde mane. Love isn't dead; it's just hibernating. Everything seemed to be a dead end for her lately. She didn't know why she had decided to move her gypsy husband Wade to the southwest corner of the country; far from the rivers and woods they both loved so much. She thought he would heal better here. It wasn't the cancer. He was beating that. It was his fight against mediocrity that concerned her. He'll never give up that crazy dream of his. Never. Why does he need to shoot rapids and rocks? Why can't he paddle on flat water? Why can’t he just ride the damned treadmills and turbosonic machines like the doctor ordered?

5 Katie noticed a pair of glowing young parents down the shore, dangling their naked baby boy by the arms, dipping him in and out of the water. The mother called out to Katie. “It’s his first swim in the ocean.” Kids. Another sticking point in the Jones marriage. Katie’s eye caught a skinny windsurfer buy a wave, fly up into the air and plunge headfirst into the sea as if a bug zapper had hit him. Katie peered across the bay at the tall hotels along the shore - a snobby Hilton here, a laid-back Sheraton there, the comfy Catamaran and the mighty Windamere. She could barely make out the rooftops at the Sea World amusement park where killer whales competed with killer concession stand prices. Further south past the downtown skyscrapers and the Navy yards stood the tall metal fence. The artificial line that divided The United States of America from Mexico. Katie remembered her first time at the fence, staring across the border at the adjacent Tijuana hills, littered with makeshift shanties and cardboard huts and all those people waiting and hoping and dreaming of one day being able to live and work in America, to be an American. Was America really still the land of opportunity? She loved her country. It gave her a close-knit family, a strong work ethic, a college education and a great sporting life. It also gave her Wade, the tick to her tock. She felt guilty now. Why didn't I call home and ask him to meet me here? He's probably sanding that crappy end table we bought at that yard sale. We could be holding hands and watching the sunset. Her tan shoes dangled by the ankle straps in her left hand. Katie bought the shoes six months ago, at the Target superstore, the day before she started her new job at the Windamere hotel. The shoes matched nicely with her sea green blazer, tan blouse and matching knee length skirt.

6 “I'm all pastel.” Katie shrugged. “The perfect corporate drone.” She looked at baptism baby again - the wriggling kid was getting dunked like a donut and loving every minute of it. Kids. Not on the family menu yet. Katie looked up at the happy pink sky dangling from invisible strings attached to heaven. She sat down in the sand and faced due west. As the last tip of the sun disappeared below the horizon, a narrow green ray shot upwards like a bolt of heat lightning flung up from the sun's core. The green flash could be seen with the naked eye. A sudden gust of wind arrived, delivering a final blow as if the wick of an enormous candle was being extinguished. It always happened so fast. Katie shook her head, rose to her feet and slipped on her drone shoes. Time to go home for dinner. Her husband Wade was waiting. He was always waiting for something now. They both were. It was only a matter of time before the dam burst. In the parking lot steps leading away from the beach she searched her Windamere jacket pockets for her car keys, jealously watching a blonde bimbo with balloons for a boob job slide behind the wheel of a brand new convertible Mercedes. Money was dogging Katie and Wade now, barking at every mail box delivery. They never had any real money to begin with. With the constant training and international competitions it had been impossible to keep a steady job. When they hung up their paddles and oars to finish Graduate School at the University of Indiana's Bloomington campus, the couple was forced to take out education loans. Now the loans were being called in and Wade's kayaking endorsements had dried up. Money, money, money. Wade had missed out on medals in the last Olympic meet. No gold, silver or bronze. If he had won, he would have had

7 sports equipment and power drink deals. As the twice- crowned U.S. National Champion, Eurocup and Worldcup winner he was supposed to make “the big splash” that year. He was one of the greatest whitewater kayakers of all time, some said, but that didn't hold much sway to an American television audience with itchy fingers on the remote. They only paid attention to his avant-garde sport every four years and only watched kayaking if a handful of Americans were leading the scoreboard. Wade had the looks television people wanted and his world titles managed a few rating points for the networks until he had that abominable run that put him back in twentieth place. Nobody in America watched his event after that and he fell off the radar. Mr. and Mrs. Jones left Indiana, leaving their Olympic dreams behind to pursue an unmapped future in San Diego. The only way they qualified to buy their small San Diego house was from a hefty inheritance left by her deceased Aunt Bernice. It took only two weeks to find their home before Katie started her new job as Human Resources Manager at the Windamere Hotel Resort on the shores of the Pacific Ocean. Her salary would be forty two thousand dollars a year plus full medical benefits for her and her spouse. Katie and Wade would have to pay for their own dental. They also had to pay out of pocket for the relocation. Wade was a smart thirty-five year old guy. He had a Master's degree in Recreational Planning and Environmental Education and the headaches of unpaid loans to prove it. “The world is my oyster every summer at any municipal swimming pool in America!” he kidded. He knew that all the lifeguard jobs went to teenagers. What Wade really wanted to do was to work around a good city Park and Rec program or maybe get involved in the State Parks system. With Katie's hotel job in hand, they decided to move to San Diego. Wade and Katie drove their road hog station wagons all the way to the promise of California from the gritty soiled

8 Midwest towing U-hauls full of “family crap,” according to Wade. The aunt that died and left them their grubstake also left behind a goulash of unmatchable junk that the couple could never throw away under the watchful eyes of family members in Indiana. In California, they promised each other to toss out everything as soon as they landed on their financial feet. That was the plan; but six months later, all the junk was still stuffed in their tiny new house and garage. On the big move, Wade steered “The Beast,” a white 1963 Chevrolet Impala Station Wagon. He bought it from a retired farmer for three hundred dollars. The Beast had a 283 horsepower V8 engine and drank twelve miles to the gallon. It didn't care if it was city or highway. It just liked to drink like a beast. A faded cherry red paint job clung to the beast's hard bones of steel. Katie drove a 1973 Ford Country Squire station wagon, a workaholic on wheels. She called her car “Kitty” because the clickety clack of its venerable engine (it had over 230,000 miles on it) reminded her of a cat purring. Kitty was painted with a heavy black lacquer and still turned heads in parking lots. “Our car insurance costs more than the damned cars,” Wade said. Both cars had aluminum roof racks, toolboxes in the far back and jumper cables cradled around brand new spare tires in the concealed wheel wells. The monsters handled the road well and plowed through snow like barges. They drove the vehicles cross-country with an emergency stop at an Oklahoma Stuckey's for pecan rolls and a two- hour break around midnight at an Indian-owned casino in western New Mexico. While Katie catnapped, Wade burned up a roll of nickels on a slot machine that “guaranteed” fun. Back in their cars, the Joneses conversed with a pair of walkie-talkies. Wade's father gave them to the couple as a going-away present and to keep them entertained when they

9 hit the dead zones of the Old West. The walkie-talkies were lots of fun. Sometimes, Wade pretended he was some foul-mouthed redneck trucker hauling bananas from Buffalo. He talked dirty for a full hour during one stretch. Another time, he and Katie played the License Plate game but there weren't enough cars or trucks on the road to keep it interesting. After that, Wade pretended he was the host on WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLIONAIRE but Katie never made it past three questions without a wrong answer. There was no ASK THE AUDIENCE or PHONE A FRIEND on the trip west. After settling in to their new home, Katie brought up the idea of getting a new car someday. “A car without shame,” she insisted. A car to lug kids around. The Beast and Kitty were long. Kayaks tied down nicely on the roof racks. Wade said the wagons were what brought them together at Langley Pond in South Carolina. Back when they met, rowers, canoeists and kayakers from five different nations trained at Langley Pond and across the state line in Augusta, Georgia on the Savannah River. She was Katie Broderick then. On weekends, small college teams from east of the Mississippi were invited to compete against the fully-funded big university guns. Many of the students secretly hoped they might catch a coach's eye for a national team or the next Olympics. Katie had joined the Indiana Novice Rowing Team the previous winter and hadn't had a race yet. That indelible Saturday afternoon before Katie ever laid her chaste eyes on seductive Wade Jones, her coach had challenged the novice team from Purdue University to a headrace and they accepted. Boats went in the water at three that afternoon and Katie was so excited she forgot to wear rowing gloves. During practice the team was blowing some current and Katie's sets were off which sent her team boat tipping from side to side.

10 “Calm down, Katie,” her coxswain barked into a megaphone. After practice, to take her mind off the race, Katie decided to check her boat's rigging. All the nuts and bolts were tight and all the shoes in the boat were secured. When she stepped onto the dock, a handsome stranger was there - staring right through her. He was almost six feet tall with a medium but muscular body and long, thick black hair. “Is that your car in the parking lot?” he asked with a strange but satisfying cockiness. “Yes,” she said. She cupped her hands over her eyes, looking towards the distant parking lot. “The station wagon.” “That’s my beast parked next to yours.” “Oh. You wouldn't be siphoning my gas would you?” she said brashly. “Mebbe. I'll never tell.” He was high-handed now. “Your car and my car placed a dinner bet.” “Talking cars… A dinner bet about what?” “About you winning a race today. My car says you can't.” “What did my car say?” “She says you can.” “Kitty never lies.” She suddenly realized he was making a pass at her. “My beast lies all the time,” he winked. “You always use your station wagon to pick up girls?” Katie countered. “Works every time.” He broke into a smile that was irresistible. “I’ll take your bet but I have to warn you. I eat like a horse.” “My kind of gal. There's a fine little steak house up the road. I'll have you back to your team by midnight,” Wade promised. “What if I lose?” Katie asked.

11 He turned and pointed in the opposite direction with a long muscled arm. “There's a nudist colony up the road. They're having an all-you-can-eat buffet.” He started walking away. “You got a name stranger?” Katie called out. “Wade. Wade Jones. Friends call me Bones. I'm a whitewater man. Mebbe you heard of me.” “Not yet,” Katie said. “You will.” “Don't walk away so cocky, Jones!” She shouted after him. “You're not the only boy in Georgia, you know!” He turned around and winked at her. “Yeah, but I'm the best peach you'll ever eat!” She stomped her foot after he turned around. Such arrogance! During the race, Katie was in the number five seat. She kept herself tall, her elbows out, back straight. “We start with a twenty-four stroke,” whispered Peg, the senior coxswain, sitting in the back of her eight-woman scull. She commanded her team’s tactics, rowing and steering. Peg weighed all of a hundred and ten pounds. “When I give the order we push to twenty-six.” At the start line, the team struggled to keep the boat even against the current but when the start horn sounded they were ready. It was a neck and neck race with both teams pushing themselves to the limit. When Peg gave the command, “Twenty six on two and one and two and stroke, stroke, stroke...” the Indiana boat burst forward and gained a half-length lead almost to the finish line. Purdue came on strong but didn't get the flag. It was Katie's first race. Her first team win. And there was a free dinner with a handsome rascal waiting on shore. What a day! When Katie exchanged high-fives with her teammates, she realized her hands were bleeding. Back on shore, after she and her teammates stowed their scull, Wade Jones

12 arrived with a first aid kit. He salved and bandaged her blistered hands. Later, at dinner, he insisted on feeding her even though she could have done it herself. He was six years older than she was. Katie a naïve nineteen and Wade a full- of-himself twenty-five. “I'm a whitewater slalom guy,” Wade said, biting into a buttered cob of fresh corn. “Took a break from river-running to pick up Indiana girls,” he added incidentally. “Is that so?” She asked without feigning the least bit of interest. “Standard procedure here on the river.” “You're going to have to do better than that if you expect to get past this Indiana girl.” “Oh, I don't mean you university gals. I meant a real Indiana girl, born on the farm.” “I am a real Indiana girl,” Katie laughed. “Get out of town. Where you from?” “Valparaiso,” she said. “Get outta town! I have an uncle in Valparaiso.” “Where are you from?” “Just up the road. I'm a South Bend boy,” he winked. “Let me guess. You're Irish and attend Notre Dame.” “Heck, no,” Wade said. “You can't find a rapid to save your life around South Bend. I started at Western State University out in Colorado, transferred to the University of Georgia in Athens, and I'm thinking of mebbe Indiana next.” “The University of Indiana?” she asked. “Yeah. The one in Bloomington.” “That’s my school. Now why would you want to transfer to Indiana?” “Because I think I just met the woman I'm going to fall in love with for the rest of my life.” He rested his hypnotic eyes on hers and she was hooked. It was all so simple for Wade Jones. Decisions came at the drop of a hat and he rarely changed his mind once his mind was made up.

13 There was another girl he had been seeing then. Victoria Paley. But Wade wasn't really sweet on her. She attended Notre Dame and was a daddy's girl. Too rich and snobby and way too possessive. He'd been meaning to break up with her anyway. “You impressed with me yet?” He smiled at Katie sincerely. “Keep talking. We have a ways to go before this date ends.” When the restaurant closed at ten, Wade and Katie were still conversing at their table. At midnight, just as Wade promised, he dropped her off at her cabin without so much as a kiss. Teammates flocked around her like mother hens, begging for details about the devil Wade Jones. “He sure isn’t shy,” Katie laughed. Wade transferred to the University of Indiana in Bloomington a week later and they became inseparable except when their competition schedules kept them apart. Friends nicknamed them “Jack & Jill,” and for their first anniversary as a couple, they were given an engraved “Jack & Jill” bucket to carry up distant hills together. They watched old movies, danced in the downpours of summer and explored the local woods. Wade especially loved the morning mist on the university's practice lake - Lake Lemon. One evening, he caught an entire city of lightning bugs and read a book of poetry outside her window, the light glowing from little insects dancing in the ventilated jar. Jealous friends said their relationship was too good to last and that someday the magic would die. But it never did. Two years later, Wade and Katie married. She was twenty-one then and he a brash twenty-seven. They talked of kids, but only after their athletic careers ended. They were both on Team USA rosters and there was no time for play. A week before they flew to Beijing for the Olympics, Wade complained, “Coach Nicholson and his merry band of doctors are killing me. He forces proteins, carbs and glycerin

14 pills down my gullet all day while his doctors chase after me with stethoscopes they keep on ice. Whenever I try and sneak off for a hamburger with melted Swiss, grilled onions and mayo on it, there's old Dennis the Menace taking it outta my hand...” After he blew out at the Beijing Games, Wade liked to say, “That lost hamburger cost me a medal!” 1.5 seconds – For Katie and her rowing team that was the time between gold and a bronze medal. And between that, silver was earned. But the Jones family, all two of them, were in San Diego now. The Olympics were a distant memory. They had to live in the present to find what the uncertain future would bring. “It's not about money, it's about letting go of the dream we both had and maybe he still has,” Katie worried. She slipped behind the wheel of Kitty, started her engine and pointed her compass towards home.

15 TRUTH AND DARE

Wade turned off the television with the remote and tossed it on top of a basket of magazines next to the living room couch. “Three hundred channels and nothing but junk,” he complained. He looked at the clock above the fireplace. It was almost six and Katie still wasn't home. He breached the short distance to the front door and looked out, realizing he'd forgotten to put the play kayak back in the garage. “She'll kill me if she sees it!” Wade swung open the front door, bounded in his bare feet to the garage and opened it. He glanced towards the street to see if Katie might be coming, then leaped to The Beast. He unstrapped the fifty pounds of kayak and gear and rushed them into the garage, leaving behind a small trail of water dripping from the kayak's drain plug. Wade stepped back out of the garage, swung down the door and took a last look at the street before returning to the house. Good. His secret was safe. He stepped inside the house and closed the front door just as Katie’s car turned the corner. She would ask him what he did again today. What is my excuse? As Katie pulled up to the house, she saw The Beast parked in the driveway (her spot) so she pulled the wagon along the curb, the car's iron snout meeting the mailbox. Wade never parks in the driveway. Katie wrestled her bulging bag of take-home work under her arm and leveraged herself from the car. Before she signed on with the Windamere Resorts chain, the recruiter

16 promised, “It's all electronic nowadays. E-mails and downloads. The day of paper has passed.” Yeah, right. She checked the mailbox. Empty. Katie walked the short length up the driveway, noticing a small trail of water leading towards the closed garage from The Beast. What is he up to? Wade bounded out from the house to meet her, waving the mail. “You got your choice of coupons today” He thumbed through the stack. “Dominoes, Papa John's and Pizza Hut want your business. We can have our entire house, up to three rooms, cleaned for thirty bucks. We can use our membership card for eighty-nine cent pork ribs at Safeway. We can have our windows cleaned with this one. Or replaced with this one. We can have our cracked windshields uncracked with this one.” “I thought the cracks were part of the car.” They exchanged a quick hello kiss and entered the house. “Dinner?” he asked. “What's on the menu?” A menu. Wade hadn't thought that far ahead. “Something frozen?” “Something fresh.” “Pasta okay?” Katie held up her stack of resumes. “Can we get some wine with these?” She slipped off her drone jacket and laid it over the back of a chair as Wade raced into the kitchen and retrieved a half-empty bottle of red wine and a glass. He returned to the living room and ordered her to sit down on the couch. She plopped down tiredly and kicked off her work heels, studying him curiously as he handed her a glass of wine. “Why is The Beast parked in the driveway with a water trail leading to the garage?” Wade took a deep breath to collect his strategy. “I went kayaking today,” he admitted.

17 She didn't expect the answer. He sat on the coffee table across from her and set the wine bottle down next to him. “I paddled for two hours,” he said. “It felt good.” “Why didn't you think you could mention it?” she asked. Wade considered his reply carefully. “Because I think I'm about to have a lot more kayaking.” Katie sipped her wine and took his hand. “You sure you’re ready?” Wade started blurting apologetically. He couldn't help it. “I think I have one more river run left in me. I know my weight's down and I'm out of practice but I think I got this cancer licked… Just one last time. I think it's, it's… the ripple effect of everything having gone so wrong for me lately…. I think God wants me to get back on the river and take one last stab.” “God…” “Yeah. We chat sometimes.” “And maybe the Olympic trials at the end of the summer?” “Maybe that. Mebbe the Nationals. Why not.” He gulped for air. “I still got a couple of months to get ahead of the real trials and I'll know if I got what it takes by then.” “How far along is the plan?” Wade practically leaped over the sofa to be near her. “The plan is happening now. It's pouring out of me in buckets. I don't know what got into me but I already started making some calls to river rats! Most of my old equipment is still good so all it's going to cost is some gas and propane and I'll only eat Ramen noodles, ten packs for a dollar to save money and….” Tears filled Katie's eyes as she reached out and pulled Wade to her on the sofa. And as they felt one another, so tight, so together, she felt the stain of his tears on her back. “It’s okay. Go do it, babe. Do it for us,” she whispered. “You're sure we can do this?”

18 “Oh, Wade! The jobs will come and babies will be born but you can't let what runs deep in you get away. Not ever.” He drew her in and kissed her. “I thank God for you.” “And I thank God for you.” For Katie, he was still a beautiful man with a beautiful sense of purpose. Their trust in one another was still alive and complete. Nothing was held back for too long and truths were still spoken.

19 THE MESSENGER

Katie Jones shook her head, ever so slightly, coming out of the bruises of a crystal clear dream. Next to her, Wade was sound asleep, his head buried face down in a pillow. She looked at the quartz bedside clock. Three a.m. Another angel dream. A messenger this time. She laid her head back on the pillow, savoring the dream, hoping to find meaning. The angelic messenger was a young man, handsome and strong. His skin was a pale white marble. He had a sad innocent smile on his lips. She was standing by his side on a riverbank near the bottom of a tall waterfall facing up together. “Here he comes,” the angel said. The bow of a long kayak made of whalebone, driftwood, and sea lion skins appeared at the top of the waterfall and hung there. Katie couldn't see who was in it. The angel extended his left arm, palm up and open, as if holding the kayak in place. “What is your wish for the passenger?” “To find his way,” Katie responded. “Then he must fall,” the angel said. The angel dropped his hand. Katie watched as the kayak shot out from the waterfall, nose down in free fall. Wade was in the boat, dressed in animal skins, his eyes alert that real death was at hand. A powerful arm of evil water reached out from the base of the waterfall, grabbed the boat like a child's toy and sucked the kayak into a deep pool of wet death. And Wade was gone.

20 Startled, Katie sat up in bed. “Why?” In the darkened room, she heard the messenger's whisper. “Men are supposed to die.” She felt the angel leave the room, like the soft evaporated whist of a breath withdrawn. Katie laid next to her sleeping husband, smothering him with the spooning warmth of her frenzied body, her hands reaching out, clutching his. “Be safe, my love.” She kissed him on his cheek and he smiled in his sleep.

21 PREPARATIONS

After his wife left for work, Wade tied down the red play kayak to the roof of his car. The kayak had been a gift from the manufacturer. He hadn't used the flat bottom boat much, but it was free. Most of the kids called it a “ducky,” a one- man self-bailing raft shaped like a kayak. It wasn't very maneuverable but was great for solo paddling. The stable ducky would give Wade a chance to work his upper arms. The flat bottom took away the ability to perform an Eskimo roll. Wade heard the telephone ringing from inside the house and scrambled up the front steps to answer it before the fourth ring. “Wade Jones here.” “Wade, good buddy!” A familiar voice was on the other end. “It's me. Pistol Pete!” “Pistol” Pete Hagan was an old kayaking buddy. They had paddled together for years. Pete had the good fortune to make a ton of money on hot telecom stocks, cashing out before the bottom fell out. He was living the free life now. “I got your call. Just came down to Colorado from Idaho for some runs. What's up?” “How's the water, Pete?” “I'm doing the Arkansas down around Buena Vista and Salida. Getting a lot of snowmelt now, plenty of gallons more up in the mountains. We're getting some reservoir releases too, up at the higher elevations. Helluva ride for early May!” “Where are you hanging your helmet?” “Wild River Adventures. It's up for sale. Big John Turner says he lost seventy-five percent of his business because of

22 the drought here the past few years. Shut down the rafts and laid off his guides. Big John's letting a whole army of river rats crap out in his cabins. You gonna make some runs with us? Is that why you called?” “I'm thinking about it, Pistol.” “And then some, if I know you, Bones Jones. Don't think. Do! Your pretty wife comin' along for the bounce?” “Not this time, Pete.” “I thought Jack always took Jill up his hill.” “Jack broke his crown, Pete. I had a little illness.” “Nothin' too serious?” “Just a cancer. I'm beating it.” “Oh, man! You don't want to fight the river if you're not sure! Get healthy first, man.” “The river will take care of that.” “Well, hell then. Cancer's nothin' for a warrior like you. It's always been you against the river gods anyways. That's how you'll clock out. Remember, Wild River Adventures is where we'll be until the water says otherwise.” They talked a few minutes more before hanging up. It was good hearing the reassurances from an old friend. After Pete's call, Wade popped down his handful of daily meds and vitamins, guzzled an orange juice and grabbed a Gatorade from the refrigerator for his morning paddle. As he headed towards the door, the telephone rang again. It was Kyle Moore this time. “Wade Jones! Man with the bones!” Kyle was shouting through the static of a cell phone. “Guess where I am right now!” Kyle and Pete gave Wade his nickname years ago. It was easy to come by. Wade had broken just about every major bone in his body running the white water. “You're usually in a topless bar, but since it's still morning, I'm guessing you're pushing a mower over your mother's lawn with a Bud Light on your belt,” Wade kidded.

23 “Hell, no!” laughed Kyle. “Mom's paying the neighbor kid five bucks a week so I'm off the hook. No man, I'm dropping down from Lake Tahoe towards the sprawling Nevada desert!” “Coming off the American River?” “You got it, Bones! Neptune's calling it in the great state of Colorado. Big CFS numbers. Big water, Wade! The hairboaters and wavehoppers are lining up. It's deep and mean and boofy. We all got creekers this voyage to catch some haystacks and buy some air! I hear the Arkansas is a regular Maytag dishwasher full of wet exits! You'll be shooting threes to sixes till you're blue!” Neptune was an Internet site hosted by kayaking legend Gary Thompson. He severed his spinal chord on a bad rock and was now a paraplegic. His site served as the eyes and ears and message board for kayakers nationwide. “Get your ass out here, Wade!” “I just got off the phone with Pistol Pete,” Wade added. “You hooking up with him?” “Wild River Adventures is the place?” “You got it, Kyle.” “Say, Wade, you climbing back in the saddle?” “I'm getting back on the horse, but I don't know how long the ride will last this time.” Kyle turned serious. “None of us do, Wade. What are you now? About thirty eight?” “I'm thirty-five.” “Thirty five. Hmmm.” Kyle mulled it over, the sound of his humming Four Runner's engine bleeding through the telephone with the static. “I'd say you got one shot left if you're thinking about the Big Show again.” “That's all I want, Kyle. One last shot.” “Hell's bells, Wade,” he answered soberly, “then bring your bag of tricks and some paddles to Colorado 'cuz you're gonna need 'em here. I'll watch your back. The times they are a'changing and us old farts are gonna have to share the runs

24 with all them rodeo cowboys and surfer dudes now. Some good ones, too! Maybe better than us and we're the best that's ever been!” Surfing and Rodeo were non-competitive grandstands by paddlers surfing a river wave or spinning in a hole on the river. Most were done with the new play boats and wave runners. The old school kayakers denounced the punk river rats as much as old-time skiers dismissed snowboarding as a bastardization of their art. Angst for the ages. “It's the equipment nowadays,” Wade suspected. “No, these kids are just plain stupid. No fear of nothin,' not even lightning on the water. You'll see!” “I'll see.” “So that means you're coming?” Kyle was getting excited now. “I’m coming,” Wade said. Kyle let out a whoop. “Well, hurry your ass up before the water goes flat! I'll keep a marshmallow on a stick for you and let everybody know Bones Jones has returned! Oops. Gotta go, Wade.” Wade could hear a police siren bleeding through the line. “It appears some state trooper thinks I'm breaking the speed limit. I’m only going ninety five!” The line went dead. Wade shook his head and smiled. It was good medicine talking to old pals. Pistol Pete and Kyle were still out there, competing and chasing the dream. Both had won all kinds of titles and events but Wade was their hero, the only one to qualify for two Olympics and win two world championships. “So this is it,” Wade realized. The gypsy life was calling. Hard floors, damp ground and jock itch. It was time for Wade to go. First to Mission Bay for a hard workout on flat water in the play kayak, then back home to start packing. He was going solo. Without his woman for the first time in almost nine years. It didn't feel

25 right leaving his soul mate behind but only time on the river could offer a final answer to his lost id and empty ego.

As the stern-faced cop wrote Kyle Austin his speeding citation, Kyle speed-dialed Gary Thompson at Neptune. “Gary! You're not gonna believe this! Wade Jones is coming back!” There was excitement on the other end. “Hell, yes, I'm sure! He just told me himself!”

Afloat in the play kayak on Mission Bay, Wade paddled towards the beach of the Windamere hotel. Katie was waiting for him at the seawall leading down from the hotel’s pool, a pair of box lunches under her arm. “Look at her. All dressed up in that corporate monkey suit.” Wade paddled ahead. “But she's part of a team. That's how she is - a team player. The job consumes her now. She won't even notice I'm gone.” Wade shrugged. “Who am I kidding? She's sacrificing herself for me. Paying my bills and buying me time.” He paddled in to shore, feeling old, empty and useless. He wasn't kidding anybody with his impossible dreams - not even himself. Why am I doing this One last paddle and the kayak slipped onto dry land. Katie set the lunch boxes down on a chair and joined him at the beach. “Hello, handsome.” “Hello, gorgeous.” “If the entire hotel staff wasn’t watching I’d tear off my clothes and attack you,” she purred.

Victoria Paley was in the Neptune chatroom when she read the news that Wade Jones was making his comeback in Colorado. After she logged off the Internet, she picked up the telephone and buzzed her personal assistant at the downtown Denver office.

26 “It's Victoria,” she said. “Billie, I need you to arrange a few things for me. Got a pen?” “Always,” Billie said. “I need an SUV with a boat rack. I also want a kayak with all the accessories that kayaks need. “Boss, I don’t even know what a kayak looks like.” “You’ll learn. Start looking for a trainer, too.” “What kind of trainer?” “Someone who can paddle a damned kayak. I got a name if you can find him.” “Shoot.” “Dennis Nicholson… and Billie? Don't breathe a word of this to anyone. Do we understand each other?” “My lips are sealed,” said Billie. “New conquest?” “Old boyfriend,” Victoria Paley remarked. “The one that got away.” Billie sighed through the phone. “How romantic!” “Easier said than done,” Victoria said. “On a scale of one to ten?” “No comment. Holding down the fort otherwise?” “That's my job. By the way, I heard your Disney deal came through. Congratulations on all that new television product!” “They should be thanking us with their numbers, Billie. Anything else?” “That's it, boss. Don't forget that board meeting tomorrow.” “I'll probably blow it off.” Victoria replied. “But you're the CEO!” “At that entitles me to make rash decisions. What time is it, anyway?” “Noon.” “God, I hate getting up so early!” Victoria growled. She rudely hung up the phone and stared out at the city skyline from her high-rise condominium. Ms. Victoria Paley was one of the wealthiest women in America running one of

27 the largest cable conglomerates in the country and now she was bored. “Wade Jones,” she clucked. “Right here in Colorado. How about that! And he's flying solo!” She lazily stripped off her negligee and paraded into the walk-in closet where she studied her naked body from several angled mirrors. Even without makeup, Victoria Paley was still a stunningly beautiful woman if she wanted to be. Not much had changed in ten years except the money. There was plenty then and too much now. She was blessed with the immunity that money brings to a chosen few, the rude power to dictate that her every want and need be met and it brought out her nasty side. Victoria Paley was vicious and cold and calculating, a trait she inherited from her bloodthirsty businessman father. What little Vicky wants, little Vicky gets.

28 FLYING SOLO

He had packed for kayak trips countless times before and knew what to take without thinking - the Coleman stove, a cook kit, propane lantern, only one of the mummy sleeping bags this time, a ground tarp, foam mattress and the three- man tent. A hatchet too, of course. Most of these items wouldn't be needed in Colorado because the outfitter there had a bunkhouse but Wade didn't know what to expect after Colorado. He grabbed half a dozen tie-down straps, some tent stakes, and a folding chair. But there was something he wanted that wasn't in the garage. Wade marched into the house and into the bedroom. He hovered over the bed, staring down at four goose down pillows. He reached for the top pillow on Katie's side of the bed and sniffed at it. Her scent. Wade carried the pillow out to The Beast and set it on the passenger seat. After he finished packing, he paddled three hours in the kayak. His strokes were clean, turns dead on. It was his longest workout since moving to San Diego six months ago and he would be good and sore for the long drive ahead. Wade pulled into Trader Joe's on Grand Street; a unique grocery store offering exotic foods and gourmet wines. He picked out all the fixings for a romantic five-course dinner. The purple-haired cashier ran a price check on two bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon. “You a good cook?” she asked. “I have my moments.” “Paper or plastic?” “Doesn’t matter.” “Don’t you care about the environment?” “Sure, I do.”

29 “Then I recommend paper.” Wade smiled at her while she bagged the groceries. “Why the purple hair?” She belligerently raised her voice at him. “I'm trying to make a statement!” “About what?” Wade asked with an even bigger curious grin. “None of your business!” she smirked.

Back at the house on Bayard Street, Wade dug around the hallway closet, dragging out the statues and medals he and Katie had won over the years. He decorated the living room mantel with them. After that, he eagerly jumped in the shower. That's when it happened - the second hint of an erection since the surgery. It wasn't much to look at or even talk about, but it was there. It could stand up in a court of law in front of any judge. Wade figured the erection coincided with his first good feeling about himself in a long time. The hidden anxiety, depression, and lack of self- confidence were not with him today. And last night, Katie told him to follow the rivers. What a woman. Follow the rivers. He had been thinking about Katie all day. How he wanted to please her and win the Olympics and get all kinds of sponsors for the entire Wade Jones line of sporting goods and start a kid's line too. When he was out paddling, he pictured her in the bay, swimming slow motion alongside his kayak, half-human, half-mermaid like an underwater angel, her hair floating around her body like strands of pearls. She sang to him and guided him away from all the hidden rocks in one of the coves on his way in to shore. “God, I love her!” he told his soap on a rope as his erection went bye-bye. After the shower, he attacked the kitchen with unbounded culinary zeal. Katie would be home soon. Pots were boiling

30 and pans were frying as oven and microwave timers rang. Wade wore a terry cloth apron over his shorts and danced to a Bob Seger album during the chaos of cooking. One timer signaled the end of the dinner rolls. A second timer warned it was time to dump the crabs into the steamer pot. Now the microwave buzzed - the broccoli casserole was finished. He had it all under control tonight. He was king of the kitchen. Wade popped the cork on one of the cabernets, poured two glasses and placed them on the patio table outside. He lit a vanilla scented tea light candle, floating it in an attractive crystal bowl as the dinner's centerpiece. He found the china place settings, silver cutlery and cloth napkins. He returned from the house with the portable CD player, hit play and swooned from foot to foot, listening to a Leonard Bernstein recording of Ferde Grofé's Grand Canyon Suite. Out in front, Katie pulled up to the curb in Kitty. Wade’s car was parked in the driveway again; a kayak tied to the roof. She looked inside and saw that it was loaded for a road trip. “He doesn't waste any time, does he?” she said with a sinking heart. “Oh well, I told him to go.” She took a deep breath, put on a sad sack smile, and went inside the house. “Honey, I'm home!” she called out. Wade slid in from the patio, took her hand, and slow- danced her to the backyard where he promptly sat her down on a cushioned plastic chair, handing her a glass of wine for a toast. “Did we win the lottery?” she asked tiredly. “Even bigger. I found another erection today.” “Oh Wade!” she said excitedly. They clinked their glasses together in an understated toast. “Nothing to hang your hat on yet. A little bigger than the last one.” “Give it time, Honey.” She took a sip of wine. “I see you're packed,” she added. “Looks like you'll be leaving in the morning?” “That's the plan,” he agreed.

31 “You're not going to leave the kayak on top of the car all night are you?” “Why not?” “Someone will steal it, Wade.” “What!” he laughed. “In this neighborhood? When it has been tied down? Besides, it's parked right outside our bedroom window.” “Put it back in the garage,” she warned. “Honey, I don't have time! I'm cooking and we have a candlelight dinner dance ahead of us!” “Okay Wade, but don't say I didn't warn you.” “Did you look at the fireplace?” he hinted. Katie turned and looked inside the house at all the trophies and medals crowding the fireplace mantel. “I forgot how much we won between us,” he realized. They held hands and went inside. “Three U.S. Nationals, two Pan Am games, two World Cups, two Olympic qualifiers, and a World championship. You're already the best of the best!” she said. “But no Olympic gold.” Wade held up several other medals. Her medals. “You did pretty good yourself! I'll never forget that time you rowed the Liffy in Ireland. And remember that lagoon? The one near Miami? Your team kicked some serious ass there.” “Your first Olympics,” she remembered. “Three broken ribs. Your second? A concussion. Now this damned cancer...” “Maybe we should put all my x-rays up with the medals... but hey,” Wade smiled with certainty. “Doc Lieverman called with yesterday's results from the blood and urine tests. Tumor markers and serum testosterone levels were looking really good.” “What about your red blood cell levels?” “Great. I told you I'm beating it!” “For now,” she cautioned. “Let's not jump the gun just yet.”

32 “And if I'm not one hundred percent? There's enough in that sperm bank we created to have a thousand kids if we want.” “I was thinking three or four,” she smiled. “We'll split the difference!” Wade said. “So, look. Whatever happens, happens. If we can't have kids the old- fashioned way we try the new-fangled way but you can't start without me.” “Where will you go first?” “River rats are meeting in Colorado for some warm-ups on the Arkansas, then on to Georgia; that's where the team trials and the real competition will be.” They both knew what he could expect in Georgia. He would be under the dubious microscope of skeptical judges, sponsors and competitors. “Okay. Let me do the mother hen bit now,” Katie said as she set her wine glass down and took his hand in hers. “You'll - “ “Take my vitamins and my meds every day - “ “And if there's even a hint of a recurrence - “ “Then I'll fly back home to my sweet baby's arms.” He leaned in and kissed her, one hand brushing her neck as gently as a cotton swab. “I'll miss you,” Katie said, her voice losing its strength. “I'll miss you first,” he said wryly. A whistle of steam sounded from the crab pot in the kitchen. “What's that sound?” she asked. “The bells and whistles whenever we kiss,” Wade whispered in her ear. “Do I need to call the fire department on this one?” she whispered back seductively. He rested her left hand on his upper thigh. “Nope. I got my own hose.”

33 Wade's dinner was delicious. Evening faded in as the married couple talked and listened to one another, exchanging their hopes and fears until they heard the opening music for the ten o’clock news coming from the next door neighbor's television. The Jones' cracked concrete patio was like an echo chamber at night with a dismal eastern view of nothing beyond the backyard except the roofs of neighboring houses. The backyard was surrounded on three sides by an eight-foot cinder block wall. “The prison exercise yard,” Wade called it. The back patio sat under a clear green corrugated roof the previous owners made from spare sheets of a disassembled greenhouse they found. The eaves leaned drunkenly towards the yard, supported by rusting wrought iron legs. There was a dangerous-looking stretch of barbed wire mounted on top of the back wall to keep out burglars, trespassers, and an inquisitive neighbor's nosey kleptomaniac kid. The kid had terrorized the neighborhood breaking into homes through sliding doors and windows looking for all forms of pornography, so they were told by the neighborhood gossip who just happened to live next door. A couple on Sunbird Lane was still embarrassed about the eight millimeter homegrown films they made back in the eighties. The boy apparently found an entire shoebox of them, then charged five dollars a head for kids to view the silent (but color: mostly blues, greens and reds) movies in his garage after school. His visiting aunt from Springfield, Illinois caught him at it but the movies were never returned to the older couple everyone now knew as “Mr. And Mrs. 69.” Telephone and electric lines ran from the Jones house to a pair of utility poles looming ominously in the northeast corner. During the day pigeons and an occasional gull used the lines to meet and gossip. The Jones couple didn't have any grass yet, courtesy of a long-gone pair of mastiffs. The dogs had mean-spirited

34 bladders the size of bathtubs that played trench warfare with the grass roots. Everyone in the neighborhood lost their minds over those enormous freaky beasts. A petition had been signed to protect the children. The family that owned the Hounds of the Baskervilles was forced to relocate. “I think I'll Astroturf the yard when I get back,” Wade said. “All green. Wall to wall. We can play putt-putt golf on it. What do you think?” He turned to Katie. She was being very quiet now. It wasn't the kind of silence that comes from listening to nature or a nervous husband's babble. She was deep inside her thoughts, fighting n unknown dread. Wade rose and lit four lemon-scented citronella candles that hung in yellow baskets from the four corners of the corrugated roof. “Still looking for mosquitoes?” she finally asked when he reached the last candle. “Mexican fruit flies now,” he said. These pests were a major source of concern in California and the American Southwest. Just like Mexican immigrants, Katie thought. All they want to do is survive and all we do is find ways to exterminate them. Eradicate the flies! Stop the Mexicans! Viva Los Angelenos! “I miss the lightning bugs,” Wade said quietly, remembering the poetry he read to her with his bottled collection. “I sure do miss those lightning bugs.” They talked on through the night. Small things, insignificant things, short term duties and forgotten household chores. They had less than twelve hours together before he left for the rivers of America. “Is this the best use of our time?” Wade finally had to ask. “Sitting out here, getting swallowed up by our fear while we stare at dead grass and barren walls?” “No,” Katie came alive. “It is not.” She took his hand in hers and led him inside. In the darkness of the living room, they paused at the trophy collection.

35 “You know Kate. It’s not about winning this time. It’s about finding out who I really am.” Katie yanked Wade straight into the bedroom by his belt and clapped her hands. Twinkling white strings of Christmas lights filled the ceiling from the sound-activated light switch. She pushed him down on the bed roughly. “Our last night under the stars together for a long, long time,” she said. “I'll be back, baby. I'll be back,” he promised. Wade reached up and took her by the wrists, pulling her down to him on the bed. He kissed her deep and hard before turning her on her back, his body enveloping hers. “Guess what?” He whispered softly in her ear. “What?” she breathed. “We're not alone.” He slid her hand down on him and she felt the growing erection. Tonight they would make love for almost an hour before Wade (and his pecker) fell into a perfect sleep.

It was Wade's dream. He saw Katie asleep in their little house in San Diego. A stranger is sliding over the barbed wire back wall, using a stepladder and floor mat to avoid cuts. He enters through the sliding patio door that Katie always forgets to lock. In his hand he wields a knife. He takes a few steps past the kitchen and turns right towards the bedroom. Suddenly, from behind, Wade appears. He'd been sleeping on the couch after a long night's cross-country drive. He leaps at the stranger, his right hand instinctively grabbing the stranger's knife hand. Wade holds on as the stranger tries ripping himself free. Wade launches his left arm around the stranger's waist, slapping him to the carpet, still holding the knife hand. Now the intruder has found his balance as he elbows Wade in the throat. Wade falls back, tearing the knife from the stranger who then flees for the sliding door, climbs the wall and disappears into the night. Now Wade sits on the couch,

36 catching his breath, wheezing for air. Suddenly a pair of dainty feet appears before him. Wade looks up with night eyes and sees Katie clasping the broken handle of a kayak paddle. She's about to strike when he offers a stifled, “Honey, I'm home.” “Oh, it's you,” his wife says blandly, shining a flashlight in his eyes. “You're home early.” “But I, I've been gone three years,” he gurgles. “Better late than never, I suppose. Well, get up then. There's home repairs to be done and I want you to meet my, I mean, OUR three children. Let's say at dawn? I don't want to wake them for nothing.” “Children?” Wade gulps. “I couldn't wait forever, you know. Started them out in petri dishes, then moved them into that set of used Corning Ware I got at a yard sale - but they were eventually all born in the crock-pot. Just the right temperature for incubated children. It's the same crock-pot I use for the beef stew now. You still like beef stew?” she asks. Wade nods. “Good. Me and the kids are crazy about it. Can't make it fast enough.” Katie says. “Oh, and you'll find your presents in the garage. All of them.” “Presents?” Wade asks. “Christmas, some birthdays, anniversaries, things like that. Nothing special to a world traveler like you, but what else is new?” She turns off her flashlight. “Good night, Mr. Cancer,” she says. Katie fades back into the bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. Wade knocks on the door. “What is it?” she says somewhat perturbed by the interruption. “The children,” Wade says. “What are their names?” “Hickory, Dickory and Dock.”

37 Wade sat up from the loony dream and turned to Katie. She was already awake, watching him with sleepy amusement. “Must have been a doozie!” she said. “A nightmare. I came back just in time to save your life.” “I hope it's not a premonition,” Katie shrugged. “By the way, you kept repeating 'Hickory, Dickory, Dock'.” She rolled over and was soon back to a full sleep. Wade lay perched on his side of the bed for several minutes analyzing the significance and meaning of his dream over and over again until he finally admitted he wasn’t smart enough to figure it out. He slid back down on the bed and soon joined his wife in slumber.

38 MILES APART

Wade woke up an hour before sunrise and made a pot of coffee. As it dripped into the machine, he stood at the sliding patio door, watching the bleak cinder block wall of the backyard, remembering only the smallest pieces of his puzzling and creepy dream. A hint of dawn sat on the wall's ledge like a thin strand of pink ribbon. “Every new day brings a chance to begin again,” he said. Wade swallowed his menu of cancer pills, filled his thermos with coffee and tiptoed to the bedroom to peek in on Katie. She was still sound asleep. He was happy she was in dreamland now. Wade didn't want to wake her to say goodbye. He didn’t know how long it would be before he would see her again. He really didn't know how to say goodbye, didn't know how to be apart from her. But it was time to go. He gently pulled the bedroom door closed, traipsed silently through the house and slipped out the front door, slowly closing it behind him so as not to make a sound. He stared at the house key on his key ring now. Should he take it or hide it under a rock nearby? A slow sadness was creeping in coupled by a deeper-burning guilt. “I don't have to go,” he told himself. “I can end this crazy dream right now. Just turn around and go back to bed beside my wife. Then maybe this afternoon I'll march over to that surfboard shop and ask if I could maybe start work tomorrow. And if the guy gives me a cold shoulder because of insurance reasons, I can tell him I'll work out of my own garage as an independent contractor.” He shook his head sadly. “Won't do,” he said. I gotta go. Wade turned towards the driveway and yelled, “Sonofabitch!”

39 Someone had stolen his kayak from the roof of his car in the middle of the night. He stood on the porch for almost a minute before moving, then opened the garage door. “It isn't right stealing a man's boat. Like horse thieving. Sonofabitch should be hanged!” Now he had only two choices - The play kayak or Old Blue. Neither served his current purposes. Old Blue was an outdated fiberglass shell from ten years ago. It had more nicks and scratches on it than an NFL lineman. But she had won her share of competitions in her prime. She'd need constant patch jobs from all the bangs ahead, too. (Not to mention everyone on the river would have a big laugh at his expense.) He could hear them all now: “Salvation Army having a boat sale, Wade?” or, “I knew somebody would find Noah's Ark eventually,” and “ain't that the same refrigerator that floated by yesterday?” Nope. Old Blue was staying home. He'd have to take the play kayak. The Ducky. “Shit. I can't even do an Eskimo roll in this thing.” With the play kayak he'd have to put up with Kayaking 101 and Kayaking for Dummies jokes and maybe a few Fisher Price toy gags. The damned thing was made from rotomolded plastic. But at least it looked new and he wouldn't appear destitute and broken down and old. Besides, Kyle and Pistol Pete would be there and they carted around a pair of boats each. Pete paddled whitewater in a Harmony and Kyle liked the Perception line of kayaks - usually a Sonoma or a Blaze was strapped to his roof. Kyle could afford anything. Wade, Pete, and Kyle could always talk straight with each other. They'd keep his secrets. One of them would loan him a boat. As for his worn gear, the river rats would rib him to no end. “To hell with all those rodeo kings,” Wade said. “I can't worry about every little detail right now. I just gotta get on the water and let my runs do the talking!”

40 Whoever stole his boat off his car slashed the bungey tie- downs with a sharp knife. Wade retrieved new chords from the garage and started restrapping the play kayak to the roof. As he worked, Katie appeared from the house wearing a pink knee-length terry cloth robe. She sipped coffee from a mug. “Where's your kayak?” she asked without any kind of expression. Wade grumbled. “Looks like maybe somebody stole it.” Katie just stared at him, not saying a word. Not one word of “I told you so” or “dummy” or “nincompoop.” Then finally, “I'll keep an eye out for it in the bay. Only place they'd use it around here.” Wade reached inside the wagon and started it. “Worse case scenario? I'm back in a week. Best case? You and me at the next Olympics.” Katie frowned. “Just do your best out there, Wade.” “Everything will be fine. I'll be fine,” he said without conviction. She stirred her coffee with her wedding ring finger. “I really wasn't thinking about you right now. I was selfishly thinking about me. Me. Me. Me. I'll go crazy without you.” Wade felt his heart drop into his stomach and he was filled with a gnawing guilt. “You're already crazy.” He tried smiling but it was no use. “Think I better get started.” Katie remembered something. “Not yet!” She skipped across their small yellow lawn to the open garage and retrieved a long, wrapped gift from the rafters. She offered it to Wade. “You go through them like licorice,” she said. Wade unwrapped a new kayak paddle. “Read the inscription on the rod.” Wade turned the paddle over and read the words aloud. “Dare to dream.” Tears came to his eyes. He didn't want to leave her. He didn't want her to stay behind. He wanted the hands of time to stop moving and the world to stand still. She was crying now. “Now get going,” Katie ordered. “Just get in that tank and fly like a bird!”

41 “Thanks, babe,” he finally said. “What a team we make, eh? Now listen. I expect you to get back on the water while I’m gone. Old Blue's waxed and waiting for you. Promise me you'll take her for a ride?” “I'll try.” “Don't try. Do...” “I'll do - without you,” Katie promised. “I’ll be thinking about you every minute of every day.” “I know, tough guy.” He stared up at the sky. “Well, I guess I better mosey… there's some white water out there with my name on it.” They shared one last big kiss before she pushed him into his driver's seat. He fumbled with the ignition key and started the car. “Go!” Katie cried. “Go before I put a hole in your damned boat to stop you! And Wade?” She reached inside the car and placed her hands on his left shoulder. “The best don't always win. Remember that.” “I know!” he said. “I'll call you from the road.” One last long wet kiss was exchanged before hapless Wade backed out of the driveway, nearly hitting the neighbor's mailbox before shifting The Beast into the forward gear and clumsily steering the old car down the street like a kid getting his permit. There was no one to protect him from himself or the vagueness of a real world now. Katie stood there, uncertain of what to do next after Wade's car turned the corner. She spied the open garage door and crossed to close it. She and Wade were at the end of something old and at the start of something she couldn't feel inside yet. She peeked inside the garage and stared at Old Blue. Wade's old racing boat. It had protected him on hundreds of rivers and rapids and she wished he had taken it this time. She had a bad feeling in her stomach now and she didn't know where it came from.

42 Maybe I'm just hungry, Kate thought. Maybe it’s the coffee. She turned to go back in the house and noticed the fresh dark oil spot on the driveway from The Beast's engine. The sight of it suddenly made Katie cry. All of it now - his leaving in a dying car that could barely make it up a hill, that silly little kiddy kayak tied to the roof, that enormous bag of cancer pills tucked in his gear... “And I gave him a stupid paddle that says 'Dare To Dream' on it,” she realized. “Why didn’t I buy him a cell phone? Poor Wade! I’m such a bitch.” She dragged her heels across the lawn, went inside the house, closed all the blinds and shed remorseful tears for a good hour before she had to go to work.

As Wade drove on to the interstate, he found himself crying for no fathomable reason he could explain but inside his head he heard himself say that he didn't want to be alive anymore. It was a terrible and depressing idea that made him shudder. He and Katie were both lost in the trap of a narrow tunnel of darkness where there was no turning back for either of them.

It was a beautiful day in downtown Denver. Silk clouds languished in the sky with no intention of moving. Victoria Paley sat at the head of the long conference table, her back to the ten male members on her Board of Directors. On the streets below, morning rush hour traffic was at a crawl. People resembled red and black ants against the backdrop of the tall Rocky Mountains to the west and nearby Mile High Stadium just to the south where tiny cars inched along the interstate. Behind her, others were finishing up an argument Victoria had tuned out of half an hour ago. “All agreed, say 'aye',” someone said. “Aye,” Victoria said without flinching. It had something to do with the purchase of a satellite something or other.

43 Everyone else joined in with an “aye” after they heard Victoria's. “All opposed say 'nay'.” Victoria wheeled around in her chair. “How can there be a 'nay’ if everyone agreed with an 'aye'?” she asked Bob Felders incredulously. “Just following the rules of protocol, Miss Paley.” Bob Felders, who ran these monthly meetings, rubbed his bald head. It was a constant reflex of his whenever the female CEO started her one-sided debates with upper management. “Let's not be too stupid about this, Bob. Rules. Protocol. Don't any of us have anything better to do than cover our asses every time any of us open our mouths? Aren't any of you gentlemen sick of what we've done to America with our corporations and our lawyers and our stock prices and our endless board meetings and mergers and acquisitions? I know I'm tired of it all.” Victoria sipped a Perrier. “Maybe I should just sell the whole operation. Dump Paley Communications for ten cents on the dollar after I sell my shares. Then you can all quit your damned private clubs and back out of all the other boards you all belong to and maybe get back to raising your kids and dancing with your wives at the neighborhood YMCA dance. Would anyone like that? Do I hear an 'aye'?” She was met by a roomful of blank stares. “I didn't think so,” Victoria laughed. “Because we're all too bloody greedy.” A few members nodded, hiding smiles behind clenched fists. “Anything else, Bob?” “Not on my list, Miss Paley.” “Good. Then I have something,” she said. “I want a new program. Something adventurous. Something fresh and new.” Ed Cheisel piped up. “MTV-style?”

44 “No. No more teenagers on buses, no more people willing to leap off burning buildings for money, no more of those manipulative reality shows full of back-stabbing, greed and lust.” “What's left then?” someone asked. “I want - nobility.” She waited for the buried snickers to subside. “I'm serious,” Victoria continued. “America is going down the toilet that we and our competitors have manufactured. What's the message in all these new shows? That you have to be young and good-looking and rich or you're screwed!” “That's what our surveys say!” someone laughed. She pounded her fist on the table and shouted, “Screw the surveys! We manipulated the public into buying our crap; now I want to manipulate America into buying quality!” “It'll cost us,” Ed Chiesel warned. Victoria's eyes scanned the room, making individual contact with each and every member. “Can I afford to be wrong?” she asked. The board members knew Victoria Paley could afford to do whatever she liked when she liked. Her father built Paley Communications from the ground up and its combined stations reached as many homes as the major networks. A few million dollars here, a few million dollars there meant nothing to her. Her cell phone rang and she answered it. It was her assistant Bobbie. “You have a kayaking lesson this afternoon with Denny Nicholson at Cherry Creek Reservoir,” Bobbie said. “You got him? Great.” “Old guy sounds a little rough around the edges,” Bobbie said on the other end with a female smirk. “He used to coach some kayaking legend named Wade Jones. Ring a bell?” “Lots of them.” After they disconnected, Victoria turned to the members. “See you at the next meeting. If anyone needs to reach me,

45 go through Bobbie. She always knows where to find me. Class dismissed.” After Victoria left her roomful of “yes” men, her CFO announced, “I think we just had a touchy-feely moment with the boss!” All the male members concurred except Bob Felders. “Careful gentlemen,” he spoke cautiously. “That snake has fangs.” “What was up with that “nobility” shtick?” Ed Cheisel asked skeptically. “She tired of being a shrew?” “Let's put it in perspective,” Bob Felders said. “Our manic bipolar CEO just turned thirty.” “So what do you think she wants to do? Give away the company and all her fortunes to find true love?” There was a brief silence in the room followed by bales of laughter. “Not Victoria Paley!” they all agreed. Nobody in this room at Paley Communications was running out the door to sell his stocks anytime soon.

It was only May but already the temperature in the high California desert was over a hundred degrees. Driving seventy-five miles an hour with all the windows down and a fifteen-mile an hour wind from the southwest made it bearable. Wade liked the ride on Interstate 8. It didn't pull nearly as much traffic as I-10 or I-40 to the north. There were a lot of Mexican license plates on the road today with Chihuahua, Jalisco, Sonora, Coahila and Baja as places of origin. Just over the Arizona border, In Yuma, Wade stopped for gas and checked his engine oil. He needed two quarts and noticed a small drip under The Beast. “Hang in there,” he said to it, adding two quarts of 10w30. Wade went inside and bought a Yahoo chocolate drink. “How far to Phoenix?” he asked the attendant as the counter jockey counted out change for a twenty.

46 “I don't know,” the attendant said. The twenty-year-old was grossly overweight and had a bad case of eczema on his hands. “How far to San Diego then?” Wade asked. “Beats me,” the attendant said. He wasn't interested in talking to strangers today. He had a frayed Penthouse magazine hidden under the counter. An old Mexican man traded it for a bottle of transmission fluid. “You from here?” Wade pressed. “Born and raised,” said the attendant. “Got a tire gauge? I need to check the air in my tires.” “I left it in back. I'm not allowed to leave the register,” said the secretive attendant as he pushed the smut magazine deeper into the recesses of the shelf with his knee. Wade shook his head. “Some customer service. What do you do for fun around here?” “Not much,” the attendant said. “My insurance company raised the price of my deductible so I canceled my policy. Don't drive anymore.” “Kinda weird working in a gas station and not having a car,” Wade pointed out. “At least I save money. Besides, the fuzz keeps their eyes out for me in case I violate the law. Cops today, they’ll arrest anybody at the drop of a hat.” Fuzz was an ancient word for cop from the 1960's. “What did you used to do before you canceled your insurance?” “Not much,” the attendant drawled lazily. “Drove around town mostly. I like them rainbow sherbet push-ups at the Kwick Way. We don't carry 'em here.” Wade realized that he just spent thirty seconds of his life talking to someone who didn't have a life. On his way out the door, he paused at the laminated wall map. Arrows pointed east and west. The west arrow read in bold letters - “SAN DIEGO - 190 miles.” The east arrow read - “PHOENIX - 242.”

47 “For future reference?” Wade pointed at the map for the attendant. “Oh yeah,” said the attendant. “I forgot about that.” After Wade drove off, the attendant reached under the counter and pulled out the secret magazine. After all, there wasn't much to do in Yuma, Arizona. Of course, Wade knew where he was going already. He could have taken Interstate 215, up to I-15, then on to Interstate 70 all the way to Colorado. Then all he had to do was drop down to Salida. But that would have been a boring thousand miles of major interstate door to door. And there weren't any Stuckeys on that route. He wanted to stock up on pecan logs. The only Stuckeys between San Diego, California and Salida, Colorado was in Grants, New Mexico, ninety miles east of the Arizona border on I-40. Indian land. Navajo. The candy detour added a hundred miles on The Beast's odometer but Wade made up for the time with a flatter route. After Grants, he would swing through Albuquerque, then up Interstate 25 through Santa Fe, over Raton Pass before entering Colorado at Las Animas County. He remembered the Stuckeys legend ever since he was a boy. The franchise began during the Great Depression in the 1930's. Some good old boy from Georgia named W. S. Stuckey started with an old car converted into a truck and a thirty-five dollar loan from his grandmother. He bought and sold nuts locally until a banker invested in his idea for a roadside stand to lure drivers passing through Georgia on their way to Florida for vacation. To supplement the seasonal supply of pecans, his wife started making other candies. Things went so well, they sold their roadside stand and built three stores until World War II came and he was forced to close his stores because of gas rationing and a rubber shortage. (What rubber and candy have to do with each other is a mystery.) But his candy had caught on. Mr. Stuckey was commissioned to make candy for the military.

48 After the war, business boomed as Americans started driving again. By the time of his death in 1977, he had over one hundred stores. But after a corporate buy-out, the land his stores were built on was more valuable than profits from the stores. Land that wasn't sold was simply shut down and boarded up or sold to independent operators. For Wade, the pecan logs were living history. As much a part of Americana as White Castle Sliders, eight ounce bottled Cokes from a reach-in machine and Bonomos Turkish taffy. Bonomos wasn't really taffy, but a kind of nougat. It came in four flavors - chocolate, strawberry, banana, and vanilla. Wade knew a place in Vermont for it. “A little out of my way this trip,” he smiled. He'd settle for the Stuckeys taffy.

Victoria met her new instructor at the Cherry Creek Reservoir beach south of Denver. “You have two hours, Denny.” “Two hours?” Dennis Nicholson said as he stretched on a wet suit and zipped it up. “It takes that long just to learn how to sit in the danged boat!” Victoria Paley kicked off her sandals and slipped off her summer dress, revealing a two piece skintight bikini that left nothing to the imagination. She took off her watch and bracelets and tossed them on her clothes. “Okay then,” she said. “Let us begin.” She slipped into the kayak cockpit, adjusting its water repellent spray skirt around her waist. The boat was a Dagger brand single passenger G Force. “Done. Now you have one hour and fifty nine minutes to kill.” Denny shook his head. “To teach you everything there is to know about whitewater kayaking? It isn't that easy, Miss Paley.” Victoria sized him up. “I was told you could teach a fish to fly.” “You were told wrong, Miss Paley.”

49 “How much am I paying you, Mr. Nicholson?” “That assistant of yours told me five hundred. I drove all the way down from Aspen.” Crusty old Dennis had met enough rude rich women up in the Colorado Mountains like this Paley broad. He wasn't a pushover no matter how much cash she waved in front of him. “If you think you can just slip into a bikini and shove off into unknown water, you're sadly mistaken.” he added. “Then I'll pay you to come with me, Dennis. Say, five thousand a week, plus expenses?” “And do what?” he said skeptically. “Baby-sit me.” Dennis spit out a wad of chewing tobacco, mulling it over. “How long?” “As long as it takes. Two weeks guaranteed.” “I can use the money,” he said. “But only if when I say ‘jump’ you say ‘how high.’ Deal?” “Got it,” Victoria said. “Now, can we get down to business?” “I'll let you know by the end of this lesson about the two weeks.” “Deal,” she said. Dennis wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his dry suit, before he pushed her and the boat into the waters of the reservoir. “The first lesson's always about attitude and aptitude. What I call a gut check.” Denny picked up a paddle, wading waist deep into the cold water. “Put both hands on your paddle like this,” he demonstrated, “and then you move the paddle like this. See how the blades are parallel to the water if you bend your wrists like this? You try.” He handed Victoria the paddle, grabbing the left gunwale of the kayak. She practiced several strokes. “Good,” he said. “Ready for gut check number one?” Victoria braced herself, staring ahead at the shore. She was all business and in a hurry.

50 “What are you looking at?” he asked. “We're only ten feet off shore.” “I'm putting on my game face,” she said. Denny smiled to himself. “Well, don't bite your tongue off, lady.” He smoothly reached under the boat, flipping it and its haughty passenger upside down, holding it there for a good ten seconds, while drawing his legs back from the craft to avoid being hit in the shins by the flailing kayak paddle visible in the churning sandy bottom below. It wasn't a paddle anymore. It was a weapon in her hands. Denny finished his silent count to ten, then abruptly pushed the kayak away from him. Another five seconds went by before the kayak suddenly righted itself with a mighty turn of Victoria's right shoulder. She came up gasping for air and screaming. “You crazy bastard! I almost drowned!” “No, you didn't. That's gut check number one,” he said mischievously. “Surviving the unexpected, finding yourself right side up again. It's called an Eskimo Roll.” “You craze…” She caught her rage and said surprised, “I just did an Eskimo Roll?” “Yep,” he said. Victoria took a deep breath and smiled. “I never thought I could do that! What's gut check number two?” “You got spunk, little lady. I have to give you that!” Denny smiled back. “Look, Denny,” she admitted. “I'm not trying to break any records and I don't want to compete with anybody out there. I just want to hang around the river and talk the talk.” “And walk the walk?” he added. “So you wanna pay me all this money to learn how to be a groupie?” Denny scratched his neck. “Yeah. I guess that's what I'm paying for,” Victoria said. “Dang,” Denny realized. “I'm getting one helluva sweetheart deal.”

51 “And I don't want any lip,” Victoria added with a bossy tone. Denny grabbed the stern of the kayak and steered it into shore. “Ever'body on the river's got lip. Goes with the sport. Seems to me you ain't ready for what's ahead. Guess this lesson's over.” He pulled the kayak ashore and grabbed the paddle from her hands. Victoria wasn't used to hearing 'no'. “I apologize!” she pleaded. “And it's seven thousand a week!” Denny stopped in his tracks, spit in the sand and turned to her. “Who's in charge?” “You are, you cranky old bastard.” Denny laughed a big one. “Okay you snobby short- tempered rich bitch.” He handed her back the paddle and pushed the kayak back in the water. For the next two hours he humiliated her with her ignorance.

That night as Victoria Paley iced her bruised arms and legs and stared down at the lights of Denver from her condominium, she had a new appreciation for the sport of kayaking. Her teacher, Dennis Nicholson, was an old whitewater pro who had run most of the wild rivers of the world and was still alive to talk about it. He was a man she could trust. He reminded Victoria of her deceased father, Terrence Paley. Strong-willed, no guff and straight to the point. “This ain't a vacation we're going on,” Denny had said. “People die in this sport all the time. Smart people, dumb people, the river don't care. But nobody I ever trained died on my clock!” Denny was Wade Jones's coach back when Wade was unstoppable, untouchable, and wild. Victoria didn't want to

52 share her secret plans with Denny just yet. That day would come soon enough. The day ended with Victoria booking a hotel room for Denny across the highway from the reservoir. They'd meet the same time tomorrow to buy equipment and practice again. “What should I expect?” she yelled from her car as he tied the practice kayak down on top of his beat-up old Toyota four-wheeler. “Same as today,” he called back. “We fight. I win,” he winked at her. Victoria liked him. The old coot would make a better board member than any of the men she had now. As old Denny drove away, she wondered if the old bastard ever danced in the rain like that Wade Jones character. Hell, I'll bet all those river rats dance in the rain, she thought.

Wade left the Grants, New Mexico Stuckeys with over thirty dollars worth of pecan logs on the seat next to him, three ice-cold chocolate-flavored Yahoos and a full tank of gas. (Two more quarts of oil by the by.) He was a happy man. “Pecan logs and Yahoo. Nothing like it anywhere in the world. A feast for a king!” he announced. Wade swallowed all his meds back in the men's room of the Stuckeys, washing them down with gritty stiff desert water from the lime-rimmed sink. Nothing was going to interfere with the pure delights of his chewy, gooey dinner. It was getting dark in the east and an electric lightning storm was dancing on the horizon. Wade didn't think any rain would come out of it, but New Mexico was famous for flash floods out here in the dry nothingness of desert. At least, it would cool the night down while he drove. Albuquerque was only eighty miles east so Wade turned on the radio, hoping to find a station to keep him awake.

53 He'd already driven seven hundred miles and heard KAMP in Tucson, KIDR out of Phoenix, KAFF (930 AM) out of Flagstaff and Window Rock's KTNN. Farmington's KCQL was coming in with a weak signal and down the dial he caught KDEF out of Albuquerque but it needed another thirty miles to be a strong signal. Then KOGT, a station all the way from Beaumont, Texas, came in loud and clear at 1600 on the AM dial. Beaumont was almost on the Louisiana border. “A good thousand miles away,” Wade realized. It had country music and the banter of local, national news and high school sports. Wade was getting tired now. But there were many miles to go. He picked his brain about everything he knew about AM radio. He knew that the AM dial broadcast band in the Western Hemisphere ran from 540 to 1700 kilohertz and that it was allocated between local, regional and clear channels. He remembered hearing his dad tell him about the ancient art of DX-ing. Back in the 1920's, the first radio stations experimented with the reach of their signals, offering souvenir postcards to listeners who confirmed where they were when they heard the station. There were still clubs today - The National Radio Club and the International Radio Club of America. Both published weekly bulletins during DX season (fall and winter) when signals traveled further. “Something to do with equinoxes,” Wade vaguely remembered his dad saying. Eastern stations usually faded an hour before local sunsets, while western stations could be heard up to an hour after local sunrises. AM stations were spaced on even channels at 10 kHz intervals. Most older AM stations were located from 540 to 1600, but new stations were being licensed that would take the signals from 1610 to 1700 kHz. “Local channels are 1230, 1240, 1340, 1400, 1450, and 1490.” Wade repeated verbatim what his dad had said long ago. “They're limited to a maximum transmitter power of 1000 watts and must use a non-directional antenna.” These

54 frequencies got congested at night and couldn't be heard for more than thirty miles. “Graveyard frequencies,” Wade recalled. Regional stations received higher transmitter power, some as high as 20,000 watts. They were allowed to use directional antennas. They lowered transmitter power at night and switched to a tighter directional antenna. Then there were the big guns - the clear channel stations like WLS out of Chicago and that station at 850 on the dial out of Denver. The Federal Communications Commission awarded them 50,000 watts of power and they used non- directional antennas. In the early years of radio, other stations were not allowed to operate on a clear channel station's frequency between sunset and sunrise. Because the channel was empty of other radio traffic and used high- powered transmitters, you could often hear a clear channel station across the entire country late at night. In other parts of the world, AM stations operated on channels spaced 9 kHz apart and once in a great while, you might catch one of these split frequency programs beaming in from Europe, Asia, or even Africa. “But not out here. I'm too far inland - and I'm driving an old car with the original radio from the manufacturer. Not enough beef in the box.” The signal out of Beaumont, Texas was coming in loud and clear. The DJ announced a fishing rod giveaway before he introduced the Number One song in country music for the week according to the Billboard charts. It was Long Distance Words of Love. Wade didn't realize he knew the lyrics to the song until he found himself singing along. Men are like that. Not knowing they know things they know. The singer's twangy voice was sad and lonesome: A telephone rings in Nashville from a motel in Des Moines I'm on the road with the band again. Don't know when I'm comin’ home

55 And you just did the shoppin' at the corner grocery store Hurried home to pick up the phone and talk to me some more Long distance words of love. A man and a woman kept far apart Who just can't get enough of the sound of each other's laughs and sighs Fast hellos... Slow good-byes. Long distance words of love… The song ended bittersweet just before the radio station faded to a static crackle. Wade turned off the radio. His thoughts turned to the landscape, a bone-dry sweetness in the air. He stared out at the barren emptiness of the land. The moon hung up above and darkness was falling as the eastern sky continued its light show of bouncing shards of electricity across the horizon. Albuquerque was still an hour away. He started thinking of Katie back in San Diego. Damn, I miss my wife. Wade was in the middle of bumsuck nowhere and felt totally alone. No amount of Yahoos and pecan logs would cheer him up. He focused his tired eyes on the road ahead. The strange sensation he had back in San Diego returned. I don't want to be alive anymore. There were bluffs and cliffs along this stretch of highway and all it would take was a simple turn of the wheel to maybe end the craziness. But what about Katie? He pictured her identifying his body, attending the funeral. He couldn't do such a selfish act and leave her behind to clean up his mess. He would have to work through the emptiness, find a way back to the real world. “Please be good to me, Colorado. I don't know how much more I can take.”

Wade guessed the time close to eight in the morning. The eastern sun bounced bright atop the eight thousand-foot summit of Raton Pass. Wade smiled and screamed “Rocky

56 Mountain High!” when he saw the carved wooden sign reading; “Welcome to Colorful Colorado.” A stretch of miles down the mountain pass to the north, the quaint town of Trinidad sat along the Purgatoire River. It had been one of the major stopping points on the Old Santa Fe Trail that brought thousands of wagon trains west as far as California. The city of ten thousand was known as the “sex change capitol of the world” now, but was once a proud center of a vast cattle and land empire. When the cattle business waned in the 1870’s, the area's economy shifted to coal mining. Legendary Bat Masterson served as the town Marshall in 1882. Kit Carson, the famous Indian fighter with a tainted reputation as an Indian butcher, also wandered the area in the 1800’s. Stanley Biber, a young surgeon from Iowa, came to Trinidad in 1954 after serving in Korea in a MASH unit. He always wanted to live the cowboy life, but as the old coal mines played out and more than half the town cleared out, he needed new business to survive. It was the 1960’s and experiments on the social fabric of American life had begun. Along came a local woman (or so everyone thought), who confided to the doctor that she was in fact a he and wanted the doctor to perform a sex-change operation. After consulting with eastern physicians, Biber performed Trinidad's first penectomy on the man and Adam became a real Eve. Over four thousand sex changes that turned men to women or women to men had been performed locally in the last thirty years. The City of Trinidad didn't shine to its newfound fame. Its reputation was quickly soiled. The Trinidad Tourist Bureau publicly declared the town as “a pocket of peace, plentiful clean air and pure Western Americana” in its brochures. But there was a change in the air. Traffic from the interstate seemed to miss the town entirely, except for a strange pilgrimage of curiosity-seekers cruising Main Street, trying to decide who was what. Sex

57 reassignments continued based on a growing national word of mouth and soon Trinidad was dubbed “the Sex Change Capital of the World.” Good doctor Biber decided he should meet with local business and religious leaders to enlighten them about gender dysphoria. “It's a condition of a person who feels trapped in the body of the wrong sex,” he told community leaders. Wade knew as little about the town as he cared to know. For him it was just a place to get gas. He pulled The Beast off the Interstate. Inside the Texaco filling station, he purchased two quarts of oil and struck up a conversation with the attendant. The tubby attendant was an enlightened man, almost feminine in physique. He knew an awful lot about the sex- change business, Wade later realized. The man told Wade that there were over seventy-five thousand people known as transsexuals that lived a different life from the sex that they were born with. He said it all came to public light when a fellow named George Jorgensen decided to become a woman named Christine Jorgensen back in 1952 in Denmark. “Costs eleven grand to be a he or a she nowadays,” the clerk calculated. “You could fill up three towns the size of Trinidad with sex-changed people in America. I’ll just betcha two-thirds of the nation's sex-change surgeries were done within throwing distance from this very gas station,” he further mused. “You just don't show up and let them doctors snip, snip, snip,” the attendant reminded Wade. “They got rules to follow now. Gettin' yer pecker whacked off shouldn't be done on a whim,” he added. Wade agreed wholeheartedly. His doctor liked to snip, snip, snip, too. But she knew when to stop snipping. “The doctors here have all kinds of guidelines now,” the gas station clerk professed. “You got to go through psychiatric evaluations. You got to live and dress as the opposite sex for at least a year and then you get the hormone

58 treatments after that, if they think you’re square with it. Vanilla for the boys and chocolate for the girls.” “You lost me on the vanilla and chocolate metaphor,” Wade said. “Sorry - testosterone for women and estrogen for men. Used to be nuttin' but men wantin’ to become women. Lots of football players and cops, but nowadays we're sitting at fifty-fifty. Half penile, half vaginoplasty. It's all mainstream now. How do you feel about it?” The attendant was blocking the door. “To each his own,” Wade guessed. “Thass right. To each his own. You ever think of getting an SRS?” “SRS?” “Sexual Reassignment Surgery,” the man said matter-of- factly. “No,” Wade almost smiled, “But I had one of my testicles removed.” “Well, hell. You're halfway there then.” The attendant smiled. “Welcome to the club!” He finally moved away from the door so Wade could leave. “Final word of advice?” the friendly attendant suggested. “Shop for your doc. Don't expect to be just like a real girl after you’ve had your furniture rearranged and don't think you're gonna trick a gynecologist when its all said and done. Just ain't gonna happen.” Wade nodded in total agreement. “I'll remember that.” He sprinted for his vehicle outside, the attendant in hot pursuit. “And remember - just because a doctor does a good nose, don't mean he does good privates!” “I'll remember that, too,” Wade saluted. “You want me to check your tires?” the attendant asked, pulling a tire pressure gauge from his pocket. Wade climbed in his car, started the engine and started moving. “No, they're fine. Everything's just dandy.”

59 Wade drove faster than the legal speed limit allowed until Trinidad was far behind. He stopped at a highway rest area and added oil to The Beast. When he reached Pueblo, Colorado, he turned west on Highway 50 and passed through Cañon City. A few more miles after that and he followed the winding Arkansas River for an hour, passing through Salida, past cows and horses and sheep chewing on sweet bending grasses. He could smell the river on his right, see it flow, hearing the occasional roar from a waterfall as the river dipped in places. His friends were close at hand. They knew Wade Jones. The old Wade Jones. But he was living a lie now. He was just a big chickenshit, reaching out to a comfort zone from the past.

Dennis Nicholson and Victoria Paley met at the Confluence Kayak store on Platte Street in Denver. The employees there knew Dennis and let him outfit Victoria personally. He found a demo model kayak that was sawed in half and showed her what the kayak was made of from the inside out. “I have people for this,” she said. “Yeah? Well, your people aren't in the boat with you when you're stuck in the middle of the river. It’s good to know how things are made.” He talked about thigh braces and foot braces, deck bags, hip grabbers, and flotation bags. He borrowed a measuring tape from a sales clerk and took her height. “Five feet, four inches,” Dennis said. He measured the length of her torso and arms so he could find the right fit of paddle for her body to match the width of the boat they would choose next. They leaned over a glass counter, flipping through a picture catalogue showing a variety of kayaks. “What is your paddling goal?” Dennis asked. “Not to look stupid,” Victoria laughed.

60 “To run a river properly, you have to put yourself in a Zen-like state and the best way to do that is to make everything about the boat work in your favor,” Denny said. Since Victoria Paley wasn't in touch with her karma, she let Denny fill in the blanks. They settled on a Dagger GT 7.5. The boat gave smaller paddlers a high-performance planing hull for spinning and surfing and had semi-sharp chines for better control on big water. A clerk fetched one from the back warehouse. “She's seven and a half feet long and holds sixty gallons if you sink,” Dennis said. “It's also the most comfortable boat you can find. Great top-end hull speed for novices.” “I bruise easily,” Victoria said. “Then I suppose you want all the bells and whistles. Performance fit, adjustable seat, thigh braces, backband, and hip pads. And you have to be strong enough to put it in the water all by your lonesome,” Denny said. Victoria lifted the front end of the kayak. “About seventy five pounds?” she guessed. “Try thirty five, wimp.” “Can I hire a valet?” “Not where we're going.” Now it came down to choosing a kayak color. Victoria looked at every color of boat in stock. She finally settled on red. “Glad we ain’t shopping for purses,” Dennis complained. “We’d be here all damned day.” The male store clerks were watching from a distance whispering and pointing. Everyone in Denver recognized Miss Paley, the gorgeous media mogul. And almost everyone knew she was single. Denny caught their stares and turned on them. “You guys got a problem?” “Is that your daughter?” a cocky clerk asked with a shit- eating grin.

61 “No,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around her. “She's my new girlfriend.” The staff was amazed that old Dennis the Menace Nicholson had scored with someone young enough to be his granddaughter. “Now let’s pick out a boat for you,” Victoria said. Dennis blushed. “You’re not serious.” “It’s only money. Besides, I want us to look good together in the wild. Your equipment is ancient.” “This is getting expensive,” Denny hinted. “Ah, but look at the fun we're going to have!” Victoria replied. “Hell, Vic, I'll bet a dame like you that’s been all over the world had plenty of that.” “Right places, wrong partners,” she hummed. “I know how that goes,” Denny added, reminiscing about his three ex-wives. Store clerks loaded down Victoria’s new SUV with their purchases and the couple returned to Cherry Creek Reservoir where Dennis menaced and yelled and scowled and slammed his fists into her new polyurethane boat to keep her focused. “I’m getting used to the cussing, but please don’t scratch my new kayak!” she pleaded.

62 BIG JOHN'S

Big John Turner, owner and operator of Wild River Adventures, had just finished loading a dozen aluminum canoes onto their trailer racks behind the big SUV when Wade Jones pulled up in the smoking Beast. “Broken Bones Jones!” Big John grinned. It had been four years since he last laid eyes on Wade. Wade fell out of the car and raced up to John. The younger man had dropped a lot of weight since then and there was a snap missing in his step. Wade wrapped his arms around the big man’s waist and gave him a bear hug. “Howdy, big man! Did you get taller since I seen you last?” “Still six six,” John drawled. “Minus sixty pounds give or take. Thin makes me look taller.” Big John stepped back from Wade and studied him. “If you don’t beat all. I hear you been in a dogfight against cancer. How's that gettin' along?” “Doctors say I licked it.” “Good to hear it. You always been a tough one, Bones.” Wade glanced around at the compound. It was an outfitter’s paradise with twenty acres on the banks of the Upper Arkansas River. Nothing had changed much with time. The row of pine wood cabins built in the 1950's looked the same. The group bunkhouse had a fresh coat of whitewash as usual. The mess hall steps were still bent in the middle, handcarved pine furniture lining its porch. Closer to the river, there was a noticeable absence of tents at the campground. “No camping this summer?”

63 “Can’t afford the labor.” Wade nodded. “That pay phone still work on the messhall porch?” “Last time I checked,” Big John said. “Gonna call the wife and let her know you arrived?” “In a bit.” Wade looked at Big John's private home tucked in at the end of the property. The house was once the residence of a lucky fellow who hit a small gold strike in the surrounding hills. It was a small two-story Victorian built in the 1880's, painted a bright white now. “Been doing some painting, I see.” “Yeah. Helps with the resale value, according to my real estate agent,” Big John shrugged. “So, you're really packing it in, Big John?” “Sorry to say. I can't make a go of it anymore, Wade. Population has doubled sixty miles east but the Arkansas shrank with competition for the tourists. Being a river outfitter is like being a damned cotton farmer now, livin’ hand to mouth, one year to the next. When the river's up, we make enough money to maybe pay back the loans from the year or two before the river dropped down. Meanwhile, staffing is a son of a bitch with no promises. Going rate for river guides is only fifty-two dollars a day and they get nuthin’ if they don't take out a float trip. Who can live on that? If your water is down, all the good guides go to a bigger river where they know they can make a whole summer out of it.” “How's this year looking?” Wade asked. “Well, for you kayakers you might get a month of water out of these mountains if you're lucky.” Big John swallowed. He didn't kayak. He was a raft man. “But they got water restrictions down on the Front Range. People can't even water their lawns there! Them Real Estate developers are still building like crazy, lyin' to the public about artesian wells and aquifers they say they'll find. Meanwhile the

64 bastards lie and cheat and steal and pad the pockets of their county commissioners and city councils, tying up farmers and ranchers in court over water rights and land rights, surveys, and eminent domain. Whole state's gone to hell with those real estate sluts.” “I can’t believe you're really getting out.” Wade shook his head. “Got to,” Big John sighed. “I got kids aimed for college and my wife is tired of busting her ass for ungrateful tourists. People aren't what they used to be, you ask me. These young punks with credit cards and Subarus come up here and think they own the place. I slapped one of 'em last summer right upside the head after shooting Brown's Canyon. Little punk ass was bouncing on the raft while I'm trying to keep us all alive. Got a lawsuit going over that one.” “Think you'll win it?” Wade asked. “I had witnesses, but he's got a law firm, money and time.” Big John spat out a wad of tobacco juice, changing the subject. “You can take a bed in the bunkhouse or if you think you might need some privacy what with the cancer and such, take an empty cabin,” he said. “I'd keep away from Number Seventeen, though. See a lot of snakes around the foundation. Probably a rattlesnake nest under it.” Wade reached into his jeans and pulled out a small wad of bills, peeling off twenties, tens and fives and sticking them in Big John’s shirt pocket. “Thanks, Big John. Is seventy-five a week okay?” “Cash is still king, Wade.” Wade kicked at the tires on the trailer. “I see you loaded up the Grummins. Got a canoe trip lined up?” “I wish,” Big John groaned. “Nope. I sold these tin sleds to the City of Colorado Springs Park and Rec. They'll use them as rentals on a little city lake they operate. Buys me another month of lease payments.” Wade looked back to where the rafts were usually stored behind a tall fenced area.

65 “You sell off the rafts, too?” “Most of 'em,” Big John rubbed his neck. “Anybody wants to buy this place won't want to be burdened with dry rotted rubber. The rest are out on a float trip for another vendor.” They talked longer about Katie and her new job at the big fancy hotel in San Diego. Big John's family had already left the spread, living up in Fort Collins in a rented house. His wife was looking for a job. His two young sons were finding lawns to mow. Big John would hang around the property until it sold and that would be the end of a dream he started ten years ago. Another American gone bust. Wade noticed Kyle's vehicle parked by one of the cabins. “He headed out with Pistol Pete this morning. They said they were gonna play in Echo Canyon today.” Big John climbed behind the wheel of his SUV. “Gotta run, Wade. See you ‘round suppertime. You got the whole kit and caboodle to yourself.” He drove off with the boats in tow, bouncing down the uneven drive towards the two-lane highway. Wade walked the grounds, visiting all the buildings, reliving the still-fresh memories that went with them. He and Katie had been here together many times when the campground and cabins were filled. But it was a ghost town now. Most of the faces of smiling friends would never be back. He found Cabin Eight empty, stowed his gear inside, and headed for his car to find Pistol Pete and Kyle on the river. Probably went there to hear themselves brag, Wade supposed. When Wade spotted the pay phone on the messhall porch, he decided to call Katie to let her know he had arrived safely. He walked up the creaky planks of the mess hall and used his AT&T calling card to dial her work number. Some girl named Tina answered. “Hello. Tina speaking.”

66 “This is Wade Jones. Is Katie available?” The girl on the other end didn't seem too bright. She hemmed and hawed about finding a sharpened pencil or a pen with ink. “Name?” The girl asked. “Wade Jones,” he repeated. She must have been writing his name down on a telephone message pad as she sounded it out. “WAY. DUD. JOAN. S. Wade Jones. Got it!” she announced proudly. “Is she available?” “One moment, please.” Wade waited patiently. He heard the girl bumping into office furniture. It sounded like pacing. And then he heard her say, “Not now! Why me? Oh God! Please God, please Jesus, tell me what to do!” Wade waited a good thirty seconds before asking, “Is everything okay there?” The line went dead. Wade stared at the receiver and hung it back up. “What the hell was that all about?” He remembered that Katie had hired a new assistant. This Tina wouldn’t last a week. He redialed to the house this time, got the answering machine, and left a message. “Hi, babe. It's me. Wade. I made it to Colorado in one piece. I hope everything's okay with you. I called the office but don't think I really left a message. A girl named Tina answered. She sounded nervous. Are you already kicking ass and taking names in that office? I'll try back later. Big John's got the place fixed up to sell. His kids and wife are already gone. Looks like we river rats have the run of the place. Oh, yeah. I stopped in a gas station in Trinidad. The clerk there had a sexual reassignment surgery. A most interesting story. That's about it. Love you. Bye!” Wade was feeling the long drive from California. He returned to his cabin and swallowed some pills, remembering

67 his prankish friends out on the river. He rigged a surprise for them. Just in case.

Wade was in the mess hall boiling water for noodles when he heard the sound of rubber on gravel as Pistol Pete and Kyle returned from Echo Canyon in their rig. He hunched down and hurried to a window to spy on them. As they climbed out of Pete’s SUV, Pete noticed Wade’s old wagon parked by Cabin Number Eight. “The king has arrived! Want to surprise him?” Pete asked Kyle. “Hell yes!” Kyle said. They sneaked up to a free-standing water spigot outside the shower building that stood between the mess hall and cabins, filled a bucket, then crept up to Wade's cabin. Pete cocked the bucket for a toss as Kyle put a hand on the door. “On the count of three, “Kyle whispered. “One, two...” He flung open the door on “three” and was met with a flying plastic garbage bag stuffed with dirt. The bag clocked him square, sending him sprawling backwards into Pete just as he was tossing the water. They fell over each other like two losers in a one-legged race, covered in muddied dirt and water. Wade came out from the mess hall shaking his head at the naughty delinquents. “When will you two ever learn?” he yelled. Pete and Kyle stood up laughing, raced towards Wade and covered him in muddy hugs. “You sonofabitch! We missed you,” they cried. “I missed you guys, too.” Pete ran to his SUV and returned with a six pack of cold beer. Bottles were opened and toasts to the past were made. Wade told them about his boat getting stolen. “Not a problem,” his friends said. Pete pointed to a kayak on his SUV. “You can keep my orange one. I'm buying a boat I saw in Salida on Sunday.”

68 Wade knew he was lying. Pistol Pete was giving him the boat because Wade needed it. Pete could afford to buy a thousand boats if he wanted. Giving Wade one wasn't a big deal. Money was never a big deal around Pete. He got lucky once. His friends didn't. “Share and share alike,” he always said. “Life is too short.” Kyle and Pete had been settled in for a few days and already checked out a string of good in and out points on the Arkansas for them to try. “We talked with some of those itchy Texas Creek guides today,” Pete said. “They say Browns Canyon is pushing a lot of water. The usual threes are all fours right now.” Kyle chirped in, “Saw a bunch of losers get beat up big time on Pinball! It was hilarious.” “Got a great picture of a pair of bighorn sheep yesterday,” Pete said. They all talked like excited schoolboys. “We should get in there first before the tourist boats arrive.” The men agreed. “Some of the rafting guides putting in at Pinnacle Rock said the Royal Gorge will be a mother in two weeks when the snowmelt starts!” Kyle added. “There are some fine- looking female guides this year!” “Man, that is so ten years ago,” Wade said. Kyle punched him in the arm. “Hey, I can dream.” Pete whistled, pulling out a map of the area. “We drove the whole river today and yesterday! The Points, the Numbers...” “I'd like to try Bighorn Sheep Canyon,” Wade said. “That's the one with Three Rocks, Spikebuck, and Shark's Tooth, isn't it?” “Count us in,” his friends said. “Anybody left in the rafting business?” “Some,” said Pete. “Arkansas Valley Adventures, Buffalo Joe's...” “River Runners is open already,” added Kyle.

69 “Echo Canyon and Raft Masters are back in Canon City.” “Pagosa Rafting's back. So is Whitewater Voyageurs in Salida.” “Too bad about Big John,” they all agreed. “I offered him a stake but he wouldn’t take it,” Pete said. “John says he got in too deep from the get-go.” “He should be back by now,” Wade said. “Naw, he won't be back for days.” Kyle said. “He told me this morning he was going up to see his family. 'No sense sitting around here waiting for a phone call,' he said.” “Things change,” Pete shook his head. “Life is a mystery. Everything seems good one day, then you wake up and the shit hits the fan. We never know why. It just is.” “God taunts our mortality,” Kyle decided. “Hell Wade, you’ve been tested more than us.” Wade swallowed down the last of a warm beer. “I’m not feeling it anymore, guys.” “Not feeling what?” “Being alive.” The men turned melancholy, staring out at the fourteen thousand foot Collegiate peaks in the distance. From the porch, they had a fantastic view south and west where the snow-capped peaks and snowfields of Harvard, Yale, Columbia and Princeton stood like mighty impenetrable fortresses in the Sawatch Range. “It doesn't get any prettier than this,” Kyle said. “Heart of the Rockies,” Pete smiled. “Maybe we can take a week and float the Dolores River near Cortez,” Pete suggested. “Oh, I like the Dolores,” Kyle reminisced. “She starts at the base of the San Juan Mountains and carves her way through forty-five miles of pink Navajo and red Wingate sandstone canyons going back 250 million years! There are ancient Anasazi Indian ruins and shelters along the way with ancient carvings and plenty of threes and fours to keep it interesting.”

70 “I found dinosaur tracks up there once,” Pete said. The three men loved talking about the age of the earth and how lucky people were to be a part of the great mystery. Kyle was always collecting rocks and plants and after every adventure, he sat at his mother's big oak dining table back home, telling stories and showing off his new collection of specimens to her and her neighbors. It was almost a ritual in his house when Kyle returned every fall. He usually spent a month at home preparing his old mother's house for winter before he trekked off to Belize where he worked as a river guide through the Christmas holidays. Some day he'd get around to finishing his Biology degree and he'd have whole study courses based on his travel specimens. Wade leaned back and watched his best friends. There was an unspoken loyalty between them. They were all CPR and First Aid certified and Wade knew that if things went sour for him, he had someone watching his back. “I missed you guys. I really did.” All three nodded at the same time. “Missed you too, Wade.” Pete and Kyle said together. After quick cold showers, they reconvened on the porch in jackets and ate a quick supper of buttered noodles. The night grew dark but the three friends weren't ready to turn in yet. From the road, headlights of a car swooped into the compound. “We got company,” Pistol Pete said, standing to stretch. An orange Volkswagen minibus in mint condition turned in from the highway and rocked along the rutted dirt and gravel drive towards them, stopping at the messhall. It had a rigged roof rack and a PEACE sign on the driver's door. A tall, handsome kid in his late teens with short-cropped blonde hair climbed out. “Nice van,” Pete said. “Lots of windows.” “Thirteen,” said the kid. “It’s a classic.” “What year was it built?” “1965.”

71 “A good year.” “Is this where the river rats are starting?” The young man was very polite. “Who might you be?” Pete asked with authority. “My name is Malachi.” “Where are you from, Malachi?” “Everywhere. Nowhere.” “Just like the rest of us,” Pete barked. “Traveling alone?” “Yes, sir.” The men noticed the kayak tied to the roof of the van. They had never seen anything quite like it. “What have you got on the roof?” Wade asked. “My boat,” said the boy. “I made it myself.” It looked like he made it himself. It was a patchwork of different-colored polyurethane patches with circle grinder and flat sander scars everywhere. It had a hull like nothing the older men had ever seen. “What's with the hull?” Kyle quipped. “Sir?” “What did you do to the bottom?” “Oh! The bottom!” The boy realized. “I played around with the grooves and the run-off with a spray hose until I figured out where the water wanted to go,” Malachi said. The men exchanged looks of disbelief. “Has that boat ever seen water yet?” Pete asked. “Sure,” said Malachi. “Did it float?” Wade asked. “Yessir. Floated real good.” “How much does it weigh?” Kyle asked. “Don't know. I just kept working on it until I was done.” The men shook their heads. “I hope it don't get any uglier in the daylight,” Pistol Pete said as he walked back to the porch with Kyle. Wade pointed towards the bunkhouse and cabins. “We got the run of the place. You can take a cabin or dig in at the bunkhouse. Whatever suits you.”

72 “Thank you, sir.” “Name's Wade. Wade Jones.” Even in the darkness, Wade could feel the boy's icy blue eyes staring right through him, seeing everything there was to know about him. “I heard of you,” the boy said. “Yeah, well, maybe you have.” “They say you were the best,” the teen continued. “Maybe I was.” “But not anymore.” The kid didn't ask it like a question, he stated it like it was a known fact. This bothered Wade. “We'll have to see about that,” Wade said. “I guess we will,” Malachi said. “Where'd you say you were from again?” “I didn't,” said the young man. Wade returned to the porch scratching his head as the boy returned to the old van and drove up to the bunkhouse. “He's a strange one,” Wade told Pete and Kyle. They nodded. “Best call Katie again before it's too late.” Wade walked the loud planks of the porch to the pay phone and dialed home. The machine picked up again. “What the hell is going on back there?” he wondered. He hung up without leaving a message and returned to the porch bench, rejoining the others, staring out at the black ink sky filling up with brittle stars. “I'm thinking of buying my own star,” Pete said with a slacked jaw. “My own piece of real estate in the heavens.” “Ah, old salt. The beauty of the night sky is not for sale,” Kyle said with the wisdom of the ancients. Wade brooded in his seat. Just what was that wife of his up to? His friends read the look. “She wasn't home?” Kyle asked. “Got the machine again.”

73 “Give her that pay phone's call back number,” Pete suggested. “Isn't one. Outgoing calls only,” Kyle said. Pete turned to Wade. “I'd let you use my cell phone, but it doesn't work up here.” “I'm sure she's okay,” Wade said. “I'll try her again in the morning.”

It was seven a.m. when he called from Colorado, six a.m. in California. Wade was relieved when Katie finally answered. “Where have you been?” he asked. “Nowhere,” Katie said. “I was in the shower when you called last night.” “Who's the nut in your office?” he asked. “A new girl I hired.” “Hmmm,” Wade pouted. “Is everything okay?” she asked, slowly waking up. “I suppose so,” he said. “How many of those pecan logs did you eat so far?” “Maybe a dozen.” “No wonder you're so cranky,” Katie kidded. “I'm not cranky!” He almost yelled. “See!” She laughed. “You still have a sugar rush!” Wade caught himself and laughed. Katie looked at the alarm clock. “Why did you have to call so early?” “To get you started,” he said. “Doing what?” “Getting back in the water. Old Blue's waiting in the garage when you're willing.” “I'm getting there,” she said with a yawn. “Remember, you promised,” Wade said. “Do you mind if I work for a living first?” she asked. There was a long silence on the other end. “I'm sorry,” Katie

74 added. “I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just swamped at the hotel with summer hires.” “I miss you,” Wade said sadly. “I wish I never came.” He needed cheering up. Katie could hear it in his voice. “Well, I don't want you moping around the house. You stay in Colorado. You finish what you set out to do. You hear me, Mr. Jones?” “I hear you.” “Now go out and do what you do best.” “I will.” “And wear a helmet!” she ordered. “I will.” “And after we hang up, I want you to brush your teeth!” “Yes, dear. Anything else?” “I love you.” “I loved you first. Gotta go chase the river.” After the call, Wade went to his cabin and grabbed a toothbrush and paste. How does that woman always know when I don't brush my teeth? He wondered. He went to the co-ed lavatory. Inside, Kyle, Pete and Malachi were at individual sinks shaving. Pete nodded at Wade. “The new kid doesn’t know the river. He wants to tag along with us old dogs. You okay with that, Bones?” “Sure,” said Wade. “Heck, I’ll even give you a quarter, just to see that boat of yours float, Malachi.” “Thank you,” Malachi said. Later, in the messhall over a breakfast of ham and eggs, pancakes and coffee, the men agreed to run Browns Canyon. “Rafting 101,” said Kyle to Malachi. “Just in case you’re all talk and no show.” Wade felt all eyes turn his way. He read between the lines. Liar. Wade thought. You want to see what I got left in the oven.

75 The next morning, Pistol Pete pretended to be busy tying down his boat to a roof rack but Wade caught him looking to Kyle for some kind of verbal support when he nonchalantly mentioned, “Let's play in Wildhorse Canyon today. It’s running as a Class III right now.” “It's got a nice technical section,” Kyle said. “Do us some good taking a float now and then.” Wade wasn't stupid. He could hear what they were saying between the lines. Wade couldn't keep up yet. Wade was a bucket of rust. Wade was out of shape. Wade was a bust yesterday. After they paddled Browns Canyon in the morning they had headed upriver and shot The Numbers. Wade got stuck on a rock and couldn't self-rescue. They had to rope him out from the river's edge. Wade turned to the new kid - Malachi. “What about you hotshot?” They all called the kid Hotshot now. He wasn't afraid of anything in that strange boat of his. When the others were pulling their boats out of the water to portage a few runs, the kid bowled through the rapids like he was in a bathtub. “Whatever you fellows agree to,” the kid said. “I'm just along for the ride.” As usual, he was polite as hell. “Wildhorse it is Wade?” Wade took a deep breath for a gut check. They were right. He wasn't ready. Maybe a mediocre day would do him good. “Sure,” he said, less than enthusiastic. As they drove down the muddy drive towards the two- lane highway, a pair of SUV's carrying kayaks was pulling in. River rats were starting to arrive. Today would be the last sissy day Wade could afford without an audience for a long, long time. Pete stopped his SUV and briefed the new arrivals on available cabins and bunks. “You got beer?” he asked. They had three cases. “Keep it cold,” Kyle called over. “We’ll be back by five.”

76 The sun had just come up. Katie lay in bed staring at the empty space next to her and asked herself, “Now what?” She loved her Sundays in San Diego. No rising at dawn anymore to practice rowing or drive to a meet. She tried to sleep. Ten minutes later she found herself staring at the ceiling and walls. A dirty white sock sat on the floor by a heating vent. It was one of Wade's socks. It had a small hole in the heel and the bottom was filthy. Why hadn't she seen the sock before? Did all of his socks have holes? How long had it been there? Would bleach make it white again? What was Wade doing now? Knowing Wade, he was already up and about, probably cooking up a bad-tasting breakfast for his friends who were also lousy cooks. Or maybe he was near the river, plying his way down a long narrow trail with a kayak on his shoulder trying to get at the whitest whitewater he could find or studying a new hole. A boiling, grabby hole. Stationary predators lying in wait downstream from a rock or a drop in the riverbed. If you knew how to read a hole, it was a lot of fun to play on. “Anything but a maytag,” Katie prayed. A maytag was the worst. They were hydraulic holes that grabbed you and wouldn't let go. They flipped kayaks upside down and flushed them to the bottom, pinning the boat and paddler below. Some of the rats called them stoppers or keepers. But Wade was great in holes. He knew how to flush out and avoid getting pinned vertically. Besides, the maytags weren't the main killers on rivers. Kayakers killed themselves through their own stupidity. Too many played in flood or high water after a daily dam release, got stuck in a strainer and drowned in the flush. Others played too close to the small hydraulic dams and hung up. Some stayed too long in cold water and got hypothermia. Many fatalities could have been prevented if kayakers wore helmets and flotation

77 devices. Alcohol was another nemesis. Oddly enough, half of all kayaking accidents occurred while the person was fishing! Wade doesn’t fish. It bores him. He didn't hunt either. Couldn't pull the trigger. Just swatting a mosquito brought an apology from him to the insect world. Katie was wide-awake now, head pounding with adrenaline. “Wade, Wade, Wade, Wade, Wade!” She punched pillows. She had no choice but to get up. After a cup of coffee, she thought about going to the City Pound and buying a dog or a cat, then decided against it. That's something Wade and I do together, she realized. Instead, she carried a basket of laundry out to the wash machine in the backyard next to the garage and ran a load. After that, she emptied the dishwasher, scrubbed out the bathtub and changed the bed linens after taking one small sniff of Wade's pillow. She was done with her house chores for the day. “Now what?” she asked herself. Katie flipped through a stack of resumes and pulled three front desk candidates out of the pile to call on Monday to arrange interviews. The telephone rang. It was from her obstetrician’s office reconfirming her appointment next week.

78 AFTER MIDNIGHT

It was past midnight in Colorado. Wade sat on the outdoor stoop of his cabin, gazing out at the snow-capped Colorado Mountains gleaming under a bed of stars. He couldn't sleep tonight. He was too disappointed in himself. Today was a good example of just how badly he'd fallen as an athlete. And that nagging worthlessness was back with the voice of insanity that told him life wasn't worth living anymore. Everyone else had gone to bed over an hour ago. A whole gang of fresh-faced kayakers stormed the camp while he and his friends were on the river today. Now all the cabins except seventeen, the rattlesnake cabin, were occupied. The only spare beds left were in the bunkhouse. Starting tomorrow, the new flock of gossips would be watching his every move. Some would privately telephone their friends with weekly reports about the quality of kayakers this year. They would be most interested in the three other Olympians that arrived today and would put into the river tomorrow for the first time; Trevor Pryce, Packy Norris and Bob Pilse. All three made the last team with Wade. Trevor and Packy were wildwater men like Wade. Bob raced slalom. All three had been disappointed at the shutout in the last Olympics, too, and were as hungry as Wade to prove their worth. Some extreme sports women were here, too. “They're nothing to look at compared to those river guide babes we saw yesterday,” Kyle said. Sex was a constant on Kyle’s mind.

79 Most of the extreme women were here for fun before flat water practices and the Olympic trials began. The wild Arkansas built muscle, sinew and stamina. Earlier that night, everyone had sat around the messhall in tee shirts or dry tops drinking coffee, herbal teas, microbrews or wine in a box with the occasional joint distributed for those who wanted it. Wade didn't partake of the pot. Never did. Wasn't his style. Dope was for dopes. Diverse subjects about everything under the sun were discussed tonight and when conversations turned to kayaking, Malachi asked all sorts of questions about feeling and reading the river to find good clean paths or lines. “It all starts in the head,” was Wade's advice. “You gotta keep the fear out.” “What if it gets in anyway?” the hotshot asked. “Then you're in the wrong sport,” Kyle laughed, taking a hit from a pipe. “Look kid, the only way to build your skills is get on the water and play,” Wade said. “Play? Is that what you’ve been doing?” Malachi’s unreadable eyes met Wade's. Wade wondered if the young upstart was referring to what happened to him on the river today. “Kayaking is about being upside down half the time,” Pete determined. And on and on it went with everyone offering a philosophy for the new kid to follow. After Malachi went off to the bunkhouse, the others talked among themselves. Nobody knew anything about the new kid. “Seems strange. A big guy like that showing up out of the blue with a boat made out of nothing,” someone said. “Kid can handle a paddle. I'll say that much for him!” Pistol Pete offered. “Kid's almost too good from what I saw today,” Kyle perked up after a hearty cough from too much smoke in his lungs.

80 “To hell with all that,” Wade said rising to turn in. “That kid isn't the only one on the river. You guys talk about him like he's the Second Coming of Christ.” Pistol Pete joked, “Don't get your underwear curled up, Wade. You're still Bones Jones!” He raised his beer in a parting salute when Wade headed out the door. Wade reflected on the day. He realized he was being a grouch. In Wildhorse Canyon, he got hung up twice and the canyon was only pushing Class III water. “Kid stuff,” Wade argued with himself. He was behind the others but Malachi looked back and saw him when he stuck. The kid didn't say anything, just pulled off to the riverbank and waited until Wade finally freed himself. As Wade paddled downstream to catch up, the kid floated up alongside him. “Looks like you're having some problems getting back in the game. Think maybe we should get some two-way radios so we can keep in touch?” Hotshot asked matter-of-factly. “That won't be necessary,” Wade said stiffly. “Just want us all to be safe,” the kid replied. “Not a problem.” Wade increased his speed to get ahead of the kid. But sitting out here on his stoop all by his lonesome now, Wade had to come to terms with what Malachi had said. After all, the boy wasn't being malicious or even rude and yet Wade seemed to be going out of his way to blow the kid off instead of taking him under his wing like he usually did for newcomers. The kid was offering sound advice with a token of friendship. It's the way he stares at me, Wade realized. Every time I look up, I feel his eyes on me. He shook his head and went back in the cabin. Sleep was still avoiding him. He slipped on a headset and played some music from his portable CD player. It was The Last Cowboy, a song about a drifter dying of cancer and coming to terms with his mortality.

81 He's the last damned cowboy, The last one to survive Surrounded by American freeways and foreign enterprise But he keeps on mendin' fences and he won't believe those lies The doctor says the last great cowboy has to take his final ride Wade turned off the CD player and closed his eyes. “How appropriate,” he said to the walls. “Maybe I'm a last damned cowboy, too.” I gotta stop drinking beer. It just adds to the depression. I have a change in circumstances, is all. Work through it, weak stick. All you’re doing is paddling a little boat down a river, for God’s sakes. You have so much to be thankful for. Katie, the free pass against cancer. Reuniting with mentors and friends like Pete and Kyle. And tomorrow morning? Hope and a willingness to try again. So let down the mask. Don’t fear Malachi. Support him as a fresh-faced youth needing guidance, compassion and understanding. Set yourself free from the fear.

She was at home. Victoria Paley finished packing her things into a pair of bulging backpacks and struggled to close the zippers all around. She promised Denny that she would only bring two and wondered now how she'd ever be able to lug these monsters around. She hadn't touched one of these since college. Her makeup kit alone weighed three pounds and she never realized just how much room a pair of Neiman Marcus hiking boots took up. But she was happy now, dragging her packed knapsacks to the front door. A porter would carry them down in the morning and stuff them in her new SUV. She had learned enough about whitewater kayaking with a few days of instruction so she could blend in with a group and not make too much of a fool of herself on the river. After a few days at the reservoir, Denny drove her to a river up in the mountains

82 near Vail where she experienced her first run. It was an easy Class II. The first time she capsized, Victoria righted her boat in seconds with an Eskimo roll. Although she was upside down in the river, she stayed focused, thinking of her choices as rushing river water blinded her. The Sweep or CC? she thought. She swept out and popped right side up. The second time she capsized, she popped free of the boat, aiming her feet downstream to push off approaching rocks. Her head was erect, looking for hazards ahead and she remembered to work her arms just as Denny had showed her to control direction. Best of all, she stayed calm. She had her paddle in one hand and gripped the stern of her boat, keeping it in front of her. When the river slowed she found a pool, stood, and towed her kayak to shore. Denny was right behind her the whole way. “You're a good swimmer, Vickie.” He sounded relieved. “Wish my dad could have seen me today,” she said unconsciously. “You would have made him proud,” Denny grinned. As she caught her breath on shore, she realized Dennis had called her Vickie. Nobody ever called her that except her father. When he was dying, he held her hand and said, “It's all yours kid. Take care of it, Vickie.” “I love you, daddy,” she whispered. “I love you too, pumpkin.” And then he died. The whole ordeal of losing her boat seemed like a half- hour but it had only been two minutes. “What a rush!” she screamed. By the end of the day, Victoria was catching eddies above the rapids where she could lay out the line of her travel path ahead, staying on top of waves, dropping her bow and spinning her boat in a pirouette.

83 There was an embarrassing moment after lunch when she trekked up a narrow rocky trail to find a bush to pee behind. Denny waited below and promised not to peek. “Nothin' I ain't seen before,” he yelled after her. “Except I ain't never seen an ass worth a billion dollars.” She threw a rock at him and kept climbing while he smoked a cigarette. At the end of the day she asked Denny, “Are you certified?” “Certified crazy,” he said. “I mean, are you a certified instructor?” “All them medals I won say I am,” he said. Victoria liked him a lot. Liked how he didn't care about things that mattered to so many others. “So, what did you do to piss off three ex-wives?” she asked when they were loading up the truck at the end of the day. “I married them,” he said, dangling another cigarette from his mouth. Dennis was still up in Vail tonight. Victoria booked him a four-star room as a reward for work well done, charging it to the Promotions department of Paley Communications. What she didn’t know was that he was shit-faced drunk at the moment. But the drinks still came because he was a friend of Miss Victoria Paley. His head swayed uncertainly on his rolling neck as he entertained some old broad from Atlanta sitting next to him who just wouldn't shut the hell up about her mint julep days in the Deep South. “Do you have a room in this hotel?” he asked her snidely. “Of course,” she said. Then he said, “I charge two hundred an hour.” “For what?” she asked, somewhat confused. “For my sexual services,” he drooled. “How dare you!” she yelled, tossing her drink in his face. The bartender came over. “Is there a problem?”

84 “I think she likes me!” Dennis announced as the woman grabbed her handbag and left. “Too bad you let that one get away,” advised the amused bartender. “She's one of the richest women in America.” “I already got me one,” Dennis reassured him.

85 SHRINK TO FIT

Dennis Nicholson steered the Toyota Four-Runner south on Interstate 25 out of Denver. The back was loaded with gear and a pair of brand-new kayaks was firmly secured to the roof. The SUV handled the road well so he had it on cruise control, steering recklessly with one finger while listening to self-important, high-powered Victoria Paley sitting on the passenger side yapping away at her assistant on the other end of a cell phone. Victoria had pat answers and instructions. “Deal with it” and “Screw him” and “Don't bother me with that now” and the best one, “What do I pay you people for?” Somewhere between Castle Rock and Monument Hill Victoria's cell lost the signal and Dennis got a break from all her corporate nonsense. “Is every day like this?” he asked irritably. He still had a hangover even though it was already mid-afternoon. “Usually,” she said. “You couldn't pay me to have all that power,” he figured. “It's not so bad. An hour a day at most. Otherwise, I think I'm pretty normal.” “Your shrink tell you that?” “I don't need a shrink anymore.” “’Anymore?’” he repeated, chewing on the word. “What's that supposed to mean?” she asked in a slightly ruffled tone. “I'll bet that shrink just pissed you off one day and you fired his ass for disagreeing.” “It wasn't quite like that,” Victoria reasoned. “Yeah? Well then what was it like?”

86 “She said I was a...” “Control freak?” “That and....” “And a narcissist?” “That, too.” She challenged him with a look of defiance. “Anything else you want to add?” “Nope,” he smiled. “I got your number.” She didn't like his smug tone. “You don't know jack about women, Dennis. “ She lit a cigarette to hide her growing uneasiness. “Hell I don't,” he argued. “Women sit around bitchin' and moanin' all day about everything under the sun but it's always about relationships in the end. How this guy didn't do this or he did it incorrectly or he said something to piss you off that you'll never forgive him for until the day he dies. But if you ask him what he said? He won't even remember. So you walk around with your big bag of bullshit trying to get even and he doesn't even know he's in the game with you.” “Very observant,” she said sarcastically. “You learn that from Dr. Phil?” “I learned it from living it.” “And look how far it got you,” she said. “I'm free,” he said. “What are you?” “What do you mean?” she asked. “What would happen if the great and powerful Victoria Paley disappeared for a year?” “It doesn't work that way,” she said. “Why couldn't it?” “Because some of us are handed a delicate plate to carry in life, Dennis. My plate is the legacy my father left behind. A plate that in anyone else's hands might break.” “Get a life,” he said. “You're not God. And neither was your old man. You own some satellite dishes is all.” “I have millions of cable subscribers counting on my programming for entertainment and information.” “And how does that change the universe?”

87 “Science, technology....” “COPS, Jackass, Oprah, Christian babble, infomercials, porn, TV judges and daily violence brought into the American household. Oh yeah, you made this planet a great place to live.” Then he mumbled, “it's why I don't own cable.” “You don't own cable because you probably can't afford it,” Victoria pushed. “So instead you live in some shack in the mountains like the rest of those uni-bombers?” “I don't own cable because television is crap.” “I don't believe you,” she said, tossing her cigarette out the window. Dennis dangerously swerved the SUV off the highway, slamming the brakes on as the tires bit into the gravel roadbed. They came to a screeching halt as a passing semi honked its mighty horn as if to say, “reckless asshole!” “What the hell is wrong with you?” Victoria screamed. “You almost got us rear-ended!” “We were wearing seat belts,” he said quietly. “Now get your sweet little ass out, go back and pick up that cigarette Little Miss Save the World!” “I'm not picking up any cigarette,” she said haughtily. “People like you think you got free reign on this planet because of your money,” he hollered. “What if that cigarette starts a forest fire? You gonna pay for a new one? You gonna replace what God took a million years to grow?” “Oh, please,” she said. “Don't exaggerate.” “Fine,” Denny said. He wrenched her cell phone from her lap, pulled the car keys from the ignition, jumped out of the car and climbed a hill where he sat down, facing away towards the mountains. Victoria sat in the car, trying to make sense of what just happened. “Christ, he's temperamental!” She checked her lipstick in the visor mirror. She thought of her options. He had her cell. If a state trooper came along, he'd probably stop and give her a lift to the next town but then that cranky old

88 bastard Dennis would most likely come bounding down the hill to tell the officer about the cigarette butt fifty yards back. “This could lead to bad press.” Her side door was suddenly whipped open and Dennis appeared. He reached in, yanked a pair of bottled waters from the cup holders on the dash, and headed back down the highway. Victoria turned and saw him stopping far behind the vehicle off the side of the road. There was a small billow of smoke near his feet. He poured the water over it, then stomped out what she realized was the beginning of a small grass fire. “Goddamit. The crotchety bastard was right!” Victoria huffed. She jumped out of the SUV, grabbed a gallon water jug off the floor of the backseat, and hurried up to Dennis. “Too late,” he said. The fire was out. Angry Dennis shook his head and started walking back towards the SUV. Victoria followed him apologetically. “I'm sorry, Dennis. You were right and…” He turned on her and stopped, eyes filled with rage. “Of course I was right!” He yelled over the noise of passing traffic. “Because I care about these mountains and what lives in them! But what I don't know is what the hell some cold- hearted corporate bitch is doing here! So, before I decide if I'm turning around or not, I want to know what the hell you're up to. Why are you learning to kayak? Why the new truck and all this equipment? Why are you payin' me a king's ransom? Tell me the truth now or I'm off the job.” Another semi glazed past, blowing its whale horn. Denny gave the trucker the middle finger. Victoria had to tell Dennis something. He was too smart for her to make something up now. “The truth?” she said. “Better be the goddamned truth and nothin' but the goddamned truth, so help you God,” he preached. “Wade Jones,” she said.

89 “Wade Jones?” he asked with disbelief. “What about him?” “I used to be his girlfriend.” He shook his head as she followed. “It was a long time ago,” she continued, chasing after him. “Before I was this corporate bitch you see me as. Before my father died and everything changed. If I can find a way back to that, find that girl I used to be again...” They both climbed back in the SUV. “No more forest fires,” he said, not understanding her at all anymore. She handed him her pack of cigarettes. “Here. I just quit,” she said. He took the cigarettes and put them in his shirt pocket. “Well, I sure as hell ain't quittin'.” He found the keys and started the SUV again, accelerating until they were at cruising speed and he eased the vehicle back on the road. They passed a sign reading “Larkspur - two miles.” “You got about two minutes before I take that exit and turn around for Denver or you say somethin' that'll change my mind,” he warned. She took a deep swallow of pride. “I heard Wade was up there, near Salida. I knew you used to be his kayaking coach...” “So you're using me to get to Wade?” “You knew him well. I thought that maybe you could help me understand him again. Maybe help me figure out what it was that broke us apart....” “So you want me to be your new shrink now? Is that why you're paying me so good?” “I don't know what I think,” she said honestly, her voice quavering. “All I know is I have to do something. I can't keep living my life this way. I am just, I'm....” Tears rushed from her eyes.

90 Dennis didn't know what to say. He hadn't seen Wade in several years. Not since the last Olympics and they hadn't talked or seen each other since. Even back when he trained and traveled with Wade to rivers around the world for world cups and trophies, he never really got to know him. Wade kept things inside. Deep inside. And then there was that rumor about the cancer. Dennis couldn't remember who told him but he did remember hearing about it. He had even thought of trying to get a number on Wade so he could call him. Not that they would have much to talk about; they were never really close. It was too bad because Dennis would have liked to be close to his protégé. Wade just never gave him the open door. And Wade had a wife now. From what Dennis remembered about her, she was a good woman, a strong woman. From what he knew of her character, she wouldn’t abandon her husband. Then again, women were fickle. Maybe Wade had changed. Maybe he drank as much as his old coach. But that wasn't important now. Dennis Nicholson had a broken woman next to him. And Denny Nicholson never left a broken woman. It was always up to them to leave him after he fixed their wings and taught them to fly again. All his marriages had been like that. The Larkspur exit was just ahead. Victoria turned her face away towards the side glass, peeking towards the road as the SUV passed the exit, still heading south. A small mischievous smile creased her lips. Her crying worked. It always did with men. Dennis Nicholson would be her pawn now. Her “Uncle Dennis.” “I'll help you get in touch with yourself,” Dennis said after they passed another mile marker. “But it's going to cost you.” “How much?” She said. “I'm not talking about money,” he said. “I'm talking about the pain that goes with the truth. Now what makes you think Bones Jones is coming to Colorado?”

91 “Just following a rumor I heard,” she said. Several miles later, the SUV climbed Monument Hill and dropped down towards Colorado Springs. Pikes Peak was visible in the distance, off to the west. Past downtown Colorado Springs, the SUV turned onto Highway 24 and juggernauted west up Ute Pass into the mountains. They wouldn't be turning around for Denver anymore. Dennis the Menace and Victoria Paley might or might not meet up with his acclaimed prodigy Wade Jones. “When we run into Wade,” Dennis mentioned in passing, “you're pretty much on your own. He and I are mere acquaintances. Nothing more.” “Thanks, Dennis.” She reached out and squeezed the limp hand in his lap. As the car climbed in elevation, they entered a no man's land of untamed mountains, trees and rivers where all men and women took a back seat to the power of nature. “What if Wade shows up with his wife in tow? What will you do then?” “Move on,” she said. He didn’t believe her.

92 PEOPLE ARE STRANGE

Wade Jones sat in the passenger seat of Malachi's old VW van as they drove along the winding road that ran parallel to the river. “I'm surprised this thing still runs,” Wade said. “Where'd you get a Volkswagen bus that still works?” “I didn't,” said the kid. “I redid the body. Had to tear apart five engines to get one good one.” “So you're a mechanic?” Wade asked. “No sir. Just used common sense.” This kid was driving Wade crazy. He always gave him a polite answer but he never gave him a straight answer. Even when Wade asked Malachi earlier - “Where are you from?” - the brash youngster said, “here, there, everywhere” - and when he asked Malachi if he had a family, the kid said, “Everybody comes from a family somewhere.” When Wade asked the kid what he did for money, the kid said, “It just sort of comes.” As the tail car, they had just dropped off the last four kayakers and their boats at the day's put-in point where they retrieved their vehicles. Up ahead, four other cars were sandwiched between theirs and the lead car driven by Pistol Pete and Kyle. “So what did you think of Bighorn Sheep Canyon?” Wade asked. “I liked it,” said the kid. “Especially Three Rocks, Spikebuck, and Shark's Tooth.” Finally an answer that didn't beat around the bush.

93 Wade asked about the other Olympians that had paddled with them today. “What did you think of Trevor Pryce, Packy Norris and Bob Pilse?” “They got what it takes, I guess.” “You guess?” “They seemed a little desperate today. Like when I first saw you,” Malachi said. Wade couldn't argue with that. His was a decent day on the river for a change. Not like the other day on Wildhorse when he was learning how to kayak again. “You did pretty good today,” Wade offered. “Thank you,” the boy said obliquely. There it was again. Vague. The kid was a big fog of muscle and talent. He made Wade sick just thinking about how awesome he would be in the next couple of years - how the kid would break all his records and make all that dough and become a national hero and still be self-effacing and polite in the process. The kid couldn't avoid him forever. Some day he'd spill the beans about who he was and why he was here and where he was planning on going and he might even cough up a story about an indiscretion with a girlfriend or two along the way. But not today. The kid was as twisty as the Arkansas River. “You know much about this area?” Wade asked. “You mean the Arkansas Valley?” Malachi said. “Yeah. Let's start with the Arkansas Valley,” Wade said. The kid didn't hesitate. “I know it's the Mississippi's second largest tributary. I know that it begins in the high mountains of the Mosquito and Sawatch Ranges near Leadville. Then it winds its way south and east through the mountains before it gushes out on the Great Plains and sleeps along through Colorado, Kansas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas. I know this valley is a place where men came to find their fortunes. All kinds of trappers, miners, ranchers and railroad men.” “Is that why you're here? Your own destiny?”

94 “I was sent here.” The kid said it quietly. “Sent here by who?” “God told me to come.” “God. That’s a new one.” “It’s the truth.” Wade heard something else in Malachi’s voice - a small, patient and persistent sadness that comes from the end of something. Wade knew all about the region, he'd been here so many times. Mining was the biggest reason men came in the old days. Men like Tabor and women like Molly Brown made their millions in gold and silver in the region and built up the towns. He couldn't remember if the Climax molybdenum mine was still operating. It seemed to him most of the mines were shut down now and now most of the regular employment was found working in the area's prisons. A railroad spur for the Union Pacific Railroad still followed the river's path. But not for long. There wasn't any profit in it anymore. It might become a trail or a tourist train. Time would tell. Wade pointed up ahead. “Used to be a stage road that ran along here. You can still see some of the old wheel ruts if you slow down.” “We don't have time to slow down,” said Malachi. “Storm is coming.” The kid was right. A thunderstorm hit the river within a matter of minutes and pummeled the caravan with bits and pieces of hard rain mixed with pea-sized hail all the way back to base camp. Back at the camp, a couple of new extreme sports women (they drove in from Georgia the day before and slept all night) started getting stir crazy from all the peace and quiet they enjoyed in the morning. They took some money from the community food jar and raided the supermarket in Salida. There was a delicious buffet of beef stew, homemade biscuits, fruit, and fresh salads waiting when everyone

95 returned from the river. The tradeoff was that all the men had to do the dishes. “Payback's a bitch,” one of the extreme girls told Kyle as he dried dishes. It was still drizzling when Wade called home from the front porch of the messhall. He got the answering machine and left Katie a detailed message about what a great day he had on the river and how he was taking his medicine and brushing his teeth. He would have called her at work too, but a small line had formed of newly arrived kayakers needing to use the telephone to call their own loved ones. Besides, Wade didn't want to have to talk with the new bimbo Katie hired for the summer. Later, after dark, he and Pete brushed their teeth by the outdoor spigot. They noticed a brand new Toyota Four- Runner pulling in off the highway. It had two new kayaks on the roof and two people inside. “I wonder who that is,” Wade said. “New car, new kayaks. Maybe they want Wade Jones's autograph,” Pete kidded. “By the way, you did good on the river today. Not as good as our new wonder boy, but you did good.” “Hey,” Wade said defending himself. “I boofed a few rocks and ran a few slots!” “Not like the kid,” Pete countered. “That Malachi was born in the holy water.” Wade agreed and went off to his cabin.

It was almost eleven when Wade entered the messhall and crossed to the kitchen's refrigerator for a cold drink. As he opened the door of the fridge and reached in, he realized someone else had come in behind him. He turned and saw Victoria only a few feet away, bathed in an eerie ghostly white from the refrigerator light. He'd seen her earlier after dinner when she came into the messhall with Dennis Nicholson after settling in the group

96 bunkhouse. Everyone in the room exchanged old hellos with Dennis who then introduced Victoria to the river rats as “my latest victim.” It was a quick exchange. No big deal. Dennis and Victoria heated up some food in the microwave and left after a couple of minutes, claiming exhaustion from the long drive from Denver. As they were leaving Victoria stopped at the front door and looked around the messhall, commenting, “Finally, no television!” That brought a big laugh since everyone knew who she was. She was Victoria Paley. The gorgeous and single billionaire cable heiress that could have been a movie star or model if she wanted. After she and Denny left, the room buzzed all about her. “Now there goes a nice piece of premium stock!” Pistol Pete whistled. But now she was here. Standing too close. Alone with Wade for the first time in years. “Hello Wade,” she said. “Victoria?” he asked, with a hint of surprise. “I didn't mean to sneak up on you in the dark.” “I'm just getting a juice. Care for one?” “Sure,” she said. “White grape if you got it.” His hands pretended to be busy as he shuffled through bottles and cans but his mind was on her. She was right behind him. Victoria. An old girlfriend. How did things end? He looked down and saw her delicate left foot between his legs. She was wearing brand new slippers. God, she's close, he thought. “What's it been?” he feigned. “Eight years?” “Close enough,” she said flatly. “I'm not finding any white grape,” he said. “Let's see. We have apple, orange, and cranberry...” “Apple will be fine.” “Apple it is,” he said pulling out two. He offered her one and she took it. She struggled with the twist top. “Here. Let me do that,” he said.

97 She handed Wade back the bottle. He opened it and returned it to her. “So how the hell you been?” he asked cheerfully. “I've been all right. You know how life goes. Up and down and all around.” “I know what you mean,” he said. “I hear your father passed away. Sorry.” “He could only buy so many hearts,” she said derisively. “Yeah. I guess.” “So... stand back, Wade Jones. Let me get a good look at you.” He smiled and took a step back, still lit by the opened refrigerator door. “Just as I remember. Stout and brave and handsome,” she smiled impishly. “You left out smart,” he added. “Did I?” she said. “Probably a Freudian slip.” “You look even better than I remember,” Wade said. “Why, Wade Jones! Are you flirting with me?” “Nope. Just stating a fact,” he said strongly. “Sometimes I remember back then, you know, you and me? And how we were both struggling to make it, to find ourselves - did we?” she asked. Wade gave her a confused look. “Find ourselves Wade....” “Oh... Me? Sure. Not much has changed. I got married...” “Yes. I heard,” she said without much interest. “Is she nice?” “Very.” “Pretty?” Wade grinned like a schoolboy. “Come on, Victoria....” “Of course,” she said, answering her own question. “She'd have to be pretty and smart to snag the infamous Wade Jones!”

98 “All those things Victoria.” He wanted to change the subject. “So how the hell have you really been?” he asked. “You married?” “No. No time for such things. Running an empire is never easy.” “A house full of Hamlets and Shylocks and Lears?” he asked. “All that drama and more,” she nodded. “It gets old.” “I imagine it does.” There was an awkward silence as each took a sip of juice. “Any children yet?” she finally said. “No, no kids,” he said stiffly, thinking of his sperm in a bank somewhere. She set her juice down on the Formica counter, studying him clinically now. “I take it back. You're too skinny now.” “I had a small run-in with cancer,” he said with a falling voice. “I heard. But it isn't serious now....” “Just your typical everyday cancer,” he said with a grin. “Well, that doesn't give you the right to be skinny. I'm going to have to devote myself to fattening you up a little while we're here.” “I can handle my own ice scream spoon,” he said. “You just passing through?” “No. I should be here awhile. Dennis says we're in the heart of rapids country.” “He's got that right,” said Wade. “How did you hook up with old Dennis the Menace of all people?” “Oh,” she hedged. “Long story. My personal assistant Bobbie found him up in Vail or Aspen or something on some float trip she was on last year. They got to talking and Dennis told her the best work-out for a woman in Colorado was kayaking and one thing led to another and blah blah blah here I am!” she said perkily. “Hmm,” he said, unsure of her story.

99 “And you?” she deflected. “How did you end up here of all places?” Now she sounded convincing. It sounded like they really did just run into each other on a blind whim. “I go where the river rats go,” he said. “Colorado now. Someplace else down the road.” “Just like me,” Victoria agreed. “With cell phones and wireless Internet, I've become free as a bird, too! Wherever Dennis says jump, I jump.” Wade didn't like the sound of that. He vaguely remembered that Victoria had a way of imposing herself on a group. “So you're here for the summer?” he asked. “As long as it takes.” “As long as what takes?” Wade asked as he kicked the refrigerator door closed with his foot. The room fell into almost complete darkness, turning them into dark eerie shadows. “As long as it takes to be...” she was trapped for words. “To be... good at kayaking,” she finally said. “Well, hell. Forget about the summer then. You're a lifer,” he laughed. A thrilling chill ran through her like a spider crawling up her spine. The sound of Wade Jones's voice in the dark made her skin crawl with an edge of delight. She wanted to leap into his arms and tear at his clothes and kiss him passionately on his wet mouth scented with apple juice and suck him dry. But now was not the time. She had to play the Wade Jones game one day at a time. She had to pull the weeds of lost time out of the ground, weeds that had grown between then and now. Then she would strike without provocation or reserve and he would cave in to heated lust and they would be together again. “Are you thinking of another Olympics?” she asked lightly.

100 “Maybe one more shot,” he said in the dark. “I'll see how it goes.” “Well, you certainly look up to the challenge.” “It's just a facade,” Wade said. “Inside I'm all rust.” “It will take time getting back to how it used to be,” Victoria said. “I may never get back there,” said Wade. A brief thought occurred to him that she was referring to their cooled relationship. “I better get back.” “Ah!” she said sarcastically. “Your wife is waiting!” “No. She's back in San Diego running the roost.” They both finished off their drinks and dropped them in a large garbage can by the refrigerator. “Got an early start tomorrow.” Wade said matter-of- factly. “You and Denny coming along?” “Wouldn't miss it,” she said. Wade moved through the darkness towards the front door, brushing against her body. It was soft. Warm. He smelled her perfume. Like fresh apricots and cream. He suddenly found her hand in his. “Don't leave me alone in the dark, you big lump of wood!” she teased. “Guide me to the front door. I'm blind as a bat in here.” “Sorry,” he said. She squeezed his hand as they made their way through the dining area to the front door. Why is she here? Why is her hand so soft? Nobody brings new slippers to the river. Why am I babbling? They reached the front door. It was just a screen door in summer. It creaked as he kicked it open, spilling moonlight into the entrance. “Let there be light,” she said smartly. They stepped out on the porch and looked out at the night sky. Her hand was still in his. She pressed up behind him, settling her other hand on his shoulder. “Beautiful night,” she said. “Yes,” he replied.

101 “Do you ever think about me after all these years?” She had to ask. “Sure,” he lied. “I thought about you, too,” whispered Victoria. “I think I might even have a framed picture of you somewhere.” (She was lying. She had five.) Victoria patted Wade on the shoulder, slid her hand from his, and stepped down the stairs. “Goodnight, Bones Jones. See you in the morning.” “’Night,” he said. She skipped away towards the bunkhouse. “Victoria Paley sleeping in a bunkhouse. Who would have thought!” Wade shook his head. She suddenly swirled around like a young Cinderella. “I'm a changed woman, Wade Jones! You just wait and see!” “I'll wait,” he said. “By the way. You didn't say her name.” “Excuse me?” Wade said in a small daze. “Your wife. You forgot to tell me her name.” “Oh. It's, um, Katie.” “Katie,” she repeated. “Sounds sweet.” She skipped off to the bunkhouse and didn't return. Wade hesitated on the porch for a minute and headed back to his cabin. It wasn't a warm night but he felt a clammy wetness under his shirt. She still has the heat. He marched to his cabin and sat on his bunk, lost in thought. He was trying to unscramble the vague memory of a pretty college girl at the University of Georgia in Athens against the new picture he had of a still attractive and sophisticated cable television magnate who just happened to drop down from the sky with crusty old Dennis “the Menace” Nicholson. She was fully outfitted; everything brand new, even her socks and boots. This has got to be some kind of setup. What am I missing? He wondered.

102 His thoughts drifted backwards in time with pop-up images of a carefree Victoria Paley smiling, straddling his naked body, running a cool wet rag along his aching muscles after a long day on a rowing machine. He saw stacks of books by a mattress on a bare wood floor - a Betty and Veronica comic book at the top of one heap - red lace panties, stockings and garters - full red cherry lips - the sepia-toned album cover of a lonely folk singer… “Wade?” He looked up from his bunk. Victoria was standing in the open doorway. She was barefoot with nothing on but a Denver Broncos jersey that stopped above her knees. He could see her silhouette, backlit by the moon. Victoria would not be wearing panties to bed tonight. “I really do mean it when I say how nice it is to see you again, all in one piece.” “Thanks. Good seeing you, too,” he said cautiously. “Where do the years go, eh?” “Flies right by,” he said, not thinking to invite her in to the small, close room. “We'll have a good time on the river this summer. I promise.” “I'm sure we will, Victoria.” She knocked on the doorframe twice. “For luck. One for me, one for you. Just like old times maybe.” And then she left as suddenly as she came. Wade reached over to a small side table and picked up his portable CD player. He sifted through a few artists, thinking about Victoria Paley’s words. “Just like old times maybe.” That bothered him. Wade had been with her for only a few months, six at the most, It wasn't a serious relationship but it was very intense and lopsided. She applied too much pressure to it - he didn't know exactly how but he remembered when he met Katie and fell in love it was like being released from a vice. Katie

103 was stable. She didn't squeeze the life out of everything. She was calm. She didn't need to push everything so hard. Victoria, on the other hand, never let go of anything and was always in a hurry. It was exciting at first, but her relentlessness finally wore Wade out. She had tons of money even then, but went out of her way not to show it. Her apartment by the Athens campus was minimalist like every other struggling student - except the lingerie - she had drawers full of the stuff. He couldn't remember really breaking up with Victoria. He vaguely remembered a long night of dramatic sobbing and lovemaking until dawn when he left her for good. They were never an item to others; just casual sex partners so there was no official break-up. He never even met her rich old man. Wade just went away to Indiana on a whim to be with cute Katie Broderick. Victoria - he was struggling to put together the pieces now, focusing on the blur - Did she come to the rivers with him back then? She just said they would have a good time on the river like in the old days. When was that ever? Where? He remembered an orange tent lit from within by a dozen candles, her fingertips with the pungent smell of heating balm. Pancakes. He smelled pancakes now. She flipped dozens of pancakes made with Bisquick one morning for all the kayakers before they went out to run slalom gates. It was in - North Carolina! Someone joked, “You should marry this woman just for her cooking...” And Wade glanced at Victoria and she glanced at him with frightened, expectant eyes and said, “Maybe you should,” followed by a smile. “What did I say back then?” Wade wondered - “What did I say?” Then he remembered. “I said 'maybe I will... ‘” There might be a few forgotten pictures of her in old photo albums back in the garage in San Diego. Pre-Katie albums. He didn't look through them anymore. There wasn't a need. He loved Katie since Day One and never looked back.

104 Wade flung himself down on the bed. He saw the old Victoria clearly now - standing in an apartment doorway naked. She was so beautiful, so full of passion and life but - LOPSIDED - Victoria Paley made him nervous because she was - needy! So incredibly needy. How and why did she end up here of all places? She shouldn't be here. I don't want her here. I love my wife. He'd find the time in the near future to torture that old bastard Dennis the Menace for bringing her. Not now. He thought. No distractions. I'm going to the Olympics! She's filthy rich. I love my wife. God help me. I don't even want to be a live anymore.

105 SALIDA

Wade and the river rat caravan left the Wild River Adventures camp at seven in the morning, taking the scenic fifteen-minute drive along Highway 291 to Salida and stopping for coffee and donuts at a local convenience store. There was a slalom competition sponsored by the city of Salida today. The man or woman with the highest overall score received a one hundred-dollar prize. There was no entry fee. Competitors received a free box lunch courtesy of a sub sandwich shop out on Highway 50. Salida was a small town of five hundred with a small art scene comprised of a handful of artists who relocated from Denver and Santa Fe for the cheaper leases. The city had an exciting slalom watercourse called The Salida River Whitewater Park designed right through the heart of the city along an abandoned railroad switching yard and depot. Rocks were placed strategically in the streambed to create high quality whitewater waves, eddy lines and currents. Cables were hung across the river, from which plastic rods painted green and white were hung, serving as downstream slalom gates. Competitors could easily carry their boats back upstream to try their luck again on a concrete walkway also designed by the town. It was a fun quarter mile course designed as a Level II during the off-season when the water was low and a Level III in the summer. The run attracted riverbank spectators and kayakers and brought in the credit card crowd that cruised historic downtown for antiques and art on weekends. The rules of the race were simple. Kayakers paddled through a series of gates in timed heats through a narrow

106 tongue of water, with and against the flow of the river. If a kayaker missed a gate he received a DNF (Did Not Finish) and if he touched a gate or negotiated it in the wrong direction, he lost points. There were four heats for the day at eight, ten, noon, and two. Paddlers had to compete in all four heats to qualify for the prize. Between the slalom races, other kayakers did a rodeo or freestyled with back surfs, front surfs, enders, and loops in the river's play holes. As the rats started to unload, they were surprised to see beer-bellied Tom Drucker there. Drucker was napping in a folding lounge chair across the river down by the last slalom gate with a clipboard and stopwatch on his lap and a cooler of beer at his side. He has the goddamned megaphone, Wade noticed. Drucker always brought it along to toss out sarcastic one- liners towards spooked paddlers. “Who is he?” Malachi asked Wade. “Tom Drucker,” Wade scowled. “Looks like he's our judge for the day.” Pistol Pete came over to Wade. “That bald fat sonofabitch is starting his season early. I hear he's also one of the judges in Olympic kayaking this year.” “Great,” Wade shrugged. He turned to Malachi. “Drucker can’t paddle, can’t even swim. He’s a scout for water events around the country. He also knows the rules and regulations of kayaking inside and out.” Everyone behaved differently when Olympic judges showed up without warning at the big rapids and regional events. The beginning of summer was always about getting back in shape while practicing new techniques and enjoying the competition. With Tom Drucker on the shore, people would be pressing their abilities. Especially the new guys who wanted to get noticed for the first time or the ladies who hoped Drucker might call the flat water judges about them.

107 “Don't push it today, kid. Just enjoy the ride,” Wade told Malachi. “Drucker will be around for a few weeks.” As the rats lined their boats up by the river, a volunteer took down their names and passed out numbered racing bibs for competitors to wear. Wade was Number 13. “Superstitious?” asked the volunteer. “That number suits me fine,” laughed Wade. On his very first run, Wade missed his first gate. When he cut for the last gate, he capsized and had to Eskimo roll back to the surface. Right in front of Drucker. “I forgot just how bad a guy can get,” Drucker announced for all to hear through his megaphone. “Way to go, Bones Jones! One more swim and you can consider your day over!” Wade gave him the finger. It would be the first finger of the day given up freely by the river rats for Tom Drucker. He loved getting under their skin and messing with their heads. Drucker was an ass but he knew talent when he saw it. He barked times and warnings and penalties through his megaphone all morning long. “Man under. Eighty-two seconds. Bent paddle. Seventy- six seconds. Touched a gate. Wrong direction pal. Nice roll. Missed the gate - that'll cost him. We got a dump. Nice flush out!” When Victoria took her first run, Dennis the Menace followed her downstream, talking her through the course. She got stuck in a swall hole below a three-foot fall and Dennis had to push her out. “Looks like we got a pretty lady this year!” Drucker announced. “Can't paddle for shit but she sue looks good!” “Why don't you stick that megaphone up your ass,” Victoria said. “She's feisty, too!” Drucker boomed. During lunch, Drucker crossed the footbridge and started introducing himself to all the old and new faces. He lingered in front of Wade and finished off a can of beer.

108 “Didn't expect to see you anymore, Jones. Where you living now?” “San Diego,” Wade said. “You're not thinking of making the team again, are you?” “Time will tell,” Wade said, tearing off a piece of beef jerky. “Well, don't think too hard,” Drucker said. “Boats have changed the last couple of years and I'm seeing tons of guys that know how to use them. Stay with the duckies and you'll be fine.” “Kiss my ass, Drucker.” Drucker smiled. “Just messing with you, old-timer. Say, who's that new kid? The one driving the hippie boat?” “Name's Malachi.” “Never heard of him. Where's he from?” “Nowhere - just like the rest of us.” “Kid's good. Real good,” said Drucker. “That he is.” Drucker looked at his tote board. “This Malachi kid? He's got the lead so far.” “Good for him,” Wade said with no interest. “Some advice, Jones?” Wade chewed on his jerky slowly. “Sure. Why not.” “Get your head back in it.” Drucker moved away to interview Malachi. The judge was right of course. Wade's head wasn't in it. Victoria Paley was one reason. Since she showed up, she was always nearby. Lingering. Just like now. Two rocks away. Eavesdropping. Never close but near enough to bother him. Lopsided. All day long, wherever the group went, there she was with a painted sympathetic smile and a baby-sitter's affection. He wondered how long it would be before she started coming on to him. He knew it was coming sooner or later. Dennis the Menace hinted as much the other night when he said; “You and Victoria hook up yet?” “Hook up for what?” Wade asked.

109 “For whatever it is old friends hook up for,” Dennis said with a wink. Dennis. You could read his mind with a flashlight. Then there was goody two shoes Malachi. The kid could do no wrong. He was strong as an ox and fast with his paddle. Sitting on top of the water like a swan. Wade couldn’t find a thing wrong with the kid’s execution. So much for mentoring. The game wasn't any fun without Katie in the crowd. Wade was tired of watching and listening to guys hooting and hollering as they rode down a waterfall or claimed bragging rights at night back at the camp. Wade was just worn out. No mind, no heart, no soul. Just a pill-popping washout waiting for the dreary inevitable end. You quit kayaking two ways - a bang or a whimper. Bangs drowned or were hospitalized with broken backs and head injuries. Whimpers just quietly slipped away into the night while the others slept. Wade had seen hundreds of taillights melting into the late night fogs that rose from the rivers. He wouldn't be so lucky. Everyone would hear The Beast start up and choke its way through the last fog. “I don't give a river rat's ass what they think,” Wade mumbled, gnawing on a wilted pickle. Back at the outfitters that night, Wade stood at the pay phone and dialed home. Victoria had gone in to town with Kyle, Pete, and Dennis to buy bandages and salves for her blistered hands. Her manicured nails were already a distant memory. “Hey,” Wade spoke into the telephone when he heard Katie answer. "Hey, stranger. Still in Colorado?“ she said. "Still here. Ran a slalom today.” “How did it go?” “Started out bad but I managed third place. We're twenty five dollars richer, honey. Believe it or not Dennis the Menace took second!”

110 “Dennis the Menace? Your old coach?” She sounded surprised. “Yeah. That new hotshot kid took first. When Drucker gave him his prize, the kid looked at the hundred dollar bill like he never saw money before.” “That ass Drucker is there?” Katie didn't like Drucker. She'd spent too many days next to him at events while he belched sour opinions on that megaphone of his. “Yeah. Drucker's here in full form.” “Anything else?” He hesitated, a brief thought in his mind about Victoria. But she was inconsequential to him. Just an old fling from years ago. Certainly not worth bringing up. Instead he mentioned, “Big John Turner is back in camp. He has his boys with him. You wouldn’t recognize them, they grew so much!” “I’ll bet.” There was a long hole of sad breathing on both ends. “You still there?” “Yeah. You?” “Yeah.” “So, babe. What's new with you?” Katie carried the receiver to the patio. “I'm staring at the backyard.” “Quiet there?” “It's always quiet here.” There was a long pause again. “You thinking about quitting, Wade?” “I can't. Not yet.” “Did you do your best today?” “Unfortunately, I did.” “Well, hang in there. Time is flying here with all the work I’m catching up on. Don’t freak out. I’m not going anywhere.” “Thanks, babe. But it’s a long summer without you.”

111 “If something goes wrong, let me know. The porch light is always on.” “There goes the electric bill.” “Think of the money we’re saving on hot water in your absence.” “You got a point.” Another hole in the dialogue. “You're sure everything is okay with you, Wade?” “Everything is fine. Just feeling empty is all. Gotta go.” “You take care.” “I love you.” “I love you too.” They finally hung up. Wade felt a tinge of shame. Why didn't I mention Victoria was here?

112 VICTORIA'S OTHER SECRETS

Tired Victoria Paley stood at the far end of the coed lavatory rabidly scrubbing her face with cleanser. After a quick pat of a hand towel, she examined her face in the mirror under the late night glare of the bare 100-watt light bulb. They were still there. Three little blackheads tucked together in her left cheek. “This can't be happening!” Her skin was uneven and blotchy from too much sun. Victoria nervously glanced towards the door, working fast and furious in case someone walked in. “If Wade ever saw me like this...” Her toothbrush charger finally beeped and turned to green on the narrow stainless steel tray where the river rats stacked their toiletries. She slapped toothpaste on the small round head of her electric brush, forced it into her mouth, and turned it on. She always brushed her teeth for three minutes. Cyclic pauses and beeps built into the brush mechanism told her when to move to a new section of her mouth. Three minutes of Wade Jones time. Where are we? I sat across from him at dinner tonight. Made him eat my potato roll. My foot accidentally grazed his under the table. He didn't seem to mind. I put Smuckers jelly and real butter on his roll. He needs the fat content. He liked the jelly but I wish it were jam. Maybe I should have a case of jam brought down from that gourmet store in Denver. I got him a cup of coffee. No sugar, a little cream. Some things never change. When everyone sat around the big fireplace, I sat on the arm of that hideous flea-bitten couch next to him. He gave me a small smile when I draped my arm around the

113 back of the couch for additional support. After I rubbed Denny's leather neck, and then Pete's and Kyle's, I appropriately rubbed his neck. He practically purred. When he shot up from the couch and announced he was going to bed, I noticed the small bulge forming in his pants. That was a nice surprise. The toothbrush beeped and she changed to her bottom left molars. On his way out he stopped and looked at me briefly. And didn't he have a small guilty smile just for me! But I don't think it was an invitation to his cabin. Not just yet. But I'll just bet if I knocked on his door in a negligee that he'd be pawing all over me like a hungry little bear cub looking to suckle. I'll just bet I can make him cum in his pants just by talking in his ear right now. It will be the right ear. Just like the old days. But not yet. Not until the float trip down the Dolores River everyone agreed upon tonight. A nice lazy float trip with wine, pot, a fire under the stars and cozy mummy sleeping bags. I'll come to him then. I'll pinch my nipples right before. Slowly unzip the fly to his tent. I'll crawl inside the dark hole, pretend to be frightened by bloodthirsty wildlife, afraid to be alone, asking for a cuddle. He won't be able to refuse me. He won't want the others to hear. It will be warm in the tent. I'll announce how uncomfortable it is and suddenly pull off my sweatshirt. My exposed nipples will still be hard, visible in the moonlight. I'll lay my hand on his chest, my fingers in the mesh of his chest hair... then I'll slowly slide my hand down, skimming the navel, then the hard flat belly, I'll find his pubies and grab a hold of his hard stick shift in full throttle when… “It won't work you know.” Victoria looked up. Malachi, the mystery boy was at the first sink by the door setting up his toiletries. She never heard him come in. “Excuse me?” “You and Wade. It won't work so just forget about it.”

114 “I have no idea what you're talking about,” Victoria said. “Yes you do.” He started to brush his teeth, watching her reflection in the mirror. The boy was always staring at her. He gave her the creeps. She even mentioned it to Denny this morning. Dennis said the kid was looking at her because she was so beautiful. “He doesn't look at me, he looks through me,” Victoria said. “Well, maybe he sees something nobody else sees,” Denny said absently. Maybe he does, she thought. Maybe this kid is some kind of psychic psycho creep killer from a black swamp. Maybe this kid is the Ted Bundy of river rafting. Maybe that's why my assistant Bobbie couldn't find out anything about him. Not yet, anyway. But everybody has a past. I'll get this kid eventually. I’ll unbury his past. “Our paths crossed on purpose, you know.” “Excuse me?” “We are gathered here together for a reason,” Malachi said. “Oh, really?” “Yes.” “And what can this reason be?” “It will play out, you’ll see.” She looked at Malachi. “Listen, hotshot. Why don’t you just live your little hippie life and I'll live mine. You don't know a thing about me.” “I know everything about you.” “Who do you think you are anyway?” “I'm nobody. Just nobody.” She gathered her things together and left the room. He never took his eyes off her.

115 RIVER OF SORROWS

The whites told only one side. Told it to please themselves. Told much that is not true. Only his own best deeds, only the worst deeds of the Indians has the white man told. - Yellow Wolf, Nez Perce.

The old converted school bus chugged west on Highway 160 past Mesa Verde National Park with twelve bodies on board. Big John Turner was at the wheel, occasionally looking in his side mirror to check on the three rafts and supplies he was pulling on the trailer. Still there. His wife Evelyn was sitting in the passenger seat behind her husband. A small but scrappy woman in her late thirties, her short hair was burned between blonde and obstinate gray with tanned and leathered skin from many summers on the river. Little John, the oldest Turner boy, was amusing the other passengers with the p.a. system microphone. “Now we are passing the famous Indian ruins of Mesa Verde National Park,” the boy said. “Anybody ever been there? Give me a show of hands.” Wade raised his hand. So did Pistol Pete, Kyle, Denny and Trevor Pryce. “Come on, Mom!” Little John said. “You took me and Kevin there last summer. Remember?” “I remember,” his mom said obligingly as she chewed on a soda straw, here yes glued to a steamy Danielle Steele novel.

116 “That place was so boring,” ten year old Kevin said. “Indian kids didn't even have toys back then except for dead animals and heads.” “Victoria,” Kyle said to Victoria. “You've never been to the ruins?” He was in the front bench seat across the aisle from Evelyn. “Never,” Victoria said, sipping on a wine cooler. She felt giddy today. Happily giddy. So did everyone else on the bus. So far, the trip had been a five-hour singalong booze cruise starting at the Wild River Adventures camp to the southwestern corner of the state. They stopped twice so far. Twenty minutes for gas and an hour for a mineral bath at the Pagosa Hot Springs. Ronda, one of the extreme sports girls that came along managed to get a half-hour massage in with Victoria. Victoria paid for it. As the Dolores River loomed closer, everyone was anxious to get started on the float trip. Wade liked Big John's kids a lot. They were the kinds of boys he wanted to have with Katie some day. Both were smart and likable and interested in the world around them. Evelyn had home-schooled them for a few years and her teaching skills showed. The two boys were talking encyclopedias with all sorts of facts, figures and opinions. (Unlike Malachi. You couldn't get a syllable out of him today.) Being around so many adults over the years, the Turner boys were able to hold their own in adult conversations. Although Little John Turner was only maybe fourteen, he could already handle a big raft from the stern. “Who can spell Anasazi?” Little John asked next. Nobody raised a hand. “Gee Dad, looks like we got us some illiterates on board the magic bus today.” “Looks like it,” Big John smiled proudly, his eyes on the road. The rafting trip up the Dolores River was Big John Turner's idea. His real estate agent had just gotten a firm

117 offer on Wild River Adventures and Big John accepted. “Everything goes,” the real estate agent told Big John. “Every building, every stick of furniture, all the boats and buses. You'll be a free man in thirty days if escrow closes,” he said. “And my escrows always close,” he reassured Big John. It was a fair offer. Big John's family wouldn't go hungry. So here they all were. John and his two talkative boys, his bookworm wife and a handful of lively river rats. “Last winter? I got to learn all about Indians and Colorado and Spaniards and how the west was won by cheatin' and stealin,'“ Little John bragged. “All about it.” “I learnt, too,” young Kevin said not to be outdone. “Tell us everything you boys know,” Pistol Pete encouraged with a wink to the other adults. “It ain't pretty,” Little John said, clearing his young throat with a sip of Mountain Dew. “Ain't pretty,” Kevin repeated. “Shut up, Squirt. I'm tellin' the story,” Little John said. “You tell yours, then I'll tell mine,” Kevin decided. He crossed his arms and sulked. “Okay. Here goes. We didn't even have Indians here when I start my tale.” “How about dinosaurs?” someone yelled from the back. “They was already dead and gone ten million years before the first people came. There was no America back then neither. No states or nothing. Nomadic hunters came. People from faraway lands. They already knew about fire and they was the first to gaze upon the majestic mountains of Colorado. It was thousands of years ago. They were huntin' the bison and woolly mammoths.” “What's a woolly mammoth, Lil John?” Big John asked. “Well, at first they looked like big ugly pigs then they started evolving into something like a furry elephant just about the time man invented fire.”

118 Evelyn looked up from her novel. “I think a woman invented fire,” she said. “What do you think, Big John?” “You're right, Honey. You're always right.” “Thank you, Dear.” Evelyn said. “Thank you for always being right,” Big John said. Evelyn reached over from her seat behind Big John and kissed him on the cheek. Big John grabbed the microphone from his son and announced, “This is your driver speaking. Will all passengers please refrain from sexual advances towards the handsome driver while the bus is in motion? Thank you for your cooperation and thank you for riding the Boogie Woogie Express.” “I thought we were on the Magic Bus,” Kevin said, thinking back on previous trips when it was called The Magic Bus. “Where was I?” Little John asked as his dad handed him back the microphone. “Mammoths.” “Oh yeah. They had a trunk and tusks, too.” “Continue, son.” “But dad, the woollies didn't become elephants. They got to America maybe four thousand years ago and they evolved again into something called a mastodon. They were still real hairy. But one century they just up and died out. Pure extinction.” “Yes, son.” “So these hunters, they just started hunting the ancient bison and smaller game like the antelope, deer, eagles and rabbits. But they never built permanent homes. They just kept moving around following the animals. I saw artificials about them at the Denver museum.” “Artifacts,” Evelyn corrected him. “Yeah. I saw artifacts. Let's see... there was three kinds of ancient Injuns.” “Indians son. Don't be disrespectful.” Big John said.

119 “But they call 'em Injuns in the movies.” Little John said. “Those were older movies, honey. Back when people of color were mocked and ridiculed by the predominant white European culture.” Evelyn said. (As a young woman, Evelyn attended Sarah Lawrence College and studied political science.) “I know kids that still say Injun and wetback,” ten year old Kevin said. Evelyn’s jaw dropped. “What kids?” “Just kids,” said Kevin. “Then those kids are stupid son,” Big John said. Evelyn poked Big John. “This is what we get with public education.” “The boy next to me gets “A's” in everything.” Kevin said. “And he says his old man is a redneck.” “Old man? Redneck?” Evelyn gasped. “We'll talk about this kid later,” Big John said, shooting his son a warning look in the rearview mirror. “Yessir.” Kevin fell quiet. “Let's see,” Little John continued. “There was the Clovis, then Folsom man. He came here from Asia by way of Alaska during an ice age when Arizona and New Mexico weren’t so hot. Then there was the Planos. Then came the Anasazi. But they didn't wander. They dug in.” “Into the cliffs,” Kevin said. “This is my story, Squirt!” “I saw the ruins last year, too!” “Let's see. After the Anasazi left...” “Why did they leave?” “Because they forgot to build bathrooms in their houses!” Kevin interrupted with a gale of giggles. He liked to break himself up on occasion. “Stop cuttin' in on my story, Squirt!” Little John was getting mad now.

120 “The kids kicked around human heads until they busted ‘em so the parents moved the whole tribe away to find new heads.” Kevin added. “You're an idiot, Squirt.” “So are you. Your story is boring.” “Some stories are supposed to be boring if you want to know the truth!” Little John lectured. “I don't care about the truth,” Kevin said. He pulled a Gameboy out of his pants pocket and slipped on a headset. “Good,” Little John said, pointing at his little brother. “The kid won't be any more trouble now.” “Continue,” said Pete. “Let's see... there was all kinds of Indian tribes everyplace. Here in Colorado there was the Cheyenne, Arapaho, Comanches, and Kiowa in the eastern plains. ‘Hunting nomads,’ my teacher said. Living off the fat of the land, making clothes from buffalo and deer skins, living in teepees, gnawing on all kinds of berries and roots and ancient vegetables they foraged. Then Indians from as far way as the Mississippi River showed the western Indians how to settle down. How to grow stuff along rivers and lakes like squash and beans and corn so they wouldn't be so hungry all the time.” “I hate beans and I hate squash even more,” Kevin said, half-listening. Little John ignored the comment. “They even grew cotton. You know if you think about it, the history of all men...” “And women,” reminded Evelyn. “The history of all men and women is about gettin' food. By this time, this Spanish Conquistador named Coronado came through looking for the legendary Seven Cities of Gold known as Cibola. Streets paved with gold, was the myth. But all he found was ruins and the Navajo Indian Nation in these parts. Found some Apaches drifting up from New Mexico and Arizona, too. Of course, Indians didn't know they were

121 coming up from another state because they didn't have states per se. But they sure had invisible boundaries.” “Why did they have boundaries son?” Evelyn stopped reading her novel, marking her page with the drinking straw. “Everybody has boundaries, Mom. Boundaries are good for business. Those Anasazi, they lived up that mountain centuries before Columbus ever got lost and discovered America. Their cliff dwellings have lots of levels just like a condominium.” “But why did they live on a cliff son?” “Maybe for protection from wild animals and invaders, maybe for the view, maybe they thought it was fun...” Kevin took off his headset. He had never really stopped listening. “Maybe they built the cliff houses because there was nothing else to do.” “Jerk.” “Idiot.” “You see, the Spanish were always coming to Colorado poking around for valuables,” Little John said. “They traded metal knives and brass kettles with the Indians so the Indians wouldn't have to eat out of buffalo stomachs no more. Then around 1800, Spain sold a chunk of America to this little Frenchman named Napoleon Bonaparte. When he needed money to start his conquest of Europe, he sold the deed to President Jefferson as a Louisiana Purchase. Jefferson was crazy about artificials.” “Artifacts, son.” “It's my story, Mom! Then the trappers came and caught all the beavers at six dollars a pop and then they turned to killing all the buffs, which are really bison. And they needed trading posts here in the state so they built forts like Pueblo, Vasquez and Bent.” “Now we got motels,” Kevin said. “I'm gonna kill you,” Little John warned. “Not if I kill you first,” Kevin said flatly. “And on and on it goes.”

122 “On and on what goes?” Wade asked. “History. People wanting to own America, new people pushing old people out. The Anasazi came about the time of Jesus Christ and for some reason the Navajos showed up and called 'em the “enemy ancestors” or “the ancient ones,” I forget which. Maybe it's both. My history teacher says maybe there was a drought and the Anasazi moved on. Maybe as many as fifty thousand of them! Or maybe they all struck out to start over someplace new. America is known for people strikin' out on their own to start their lives over.” “Especially divorced people,” Kevin said. “My teacher says there's Hopi Indians in Arizona that say they are the ancestors of the Anasazi and the reason the Anasazi left the cliff houses of Colorado was because their shaman...” “What's a shaman?” Kevin asked. “Boy are you dumb,” Little John said. “A shaman is an Indian medicine man. Like a priest.” “Oh.” Kevin clicked away at his game. “So my teacher says the Anasazi were condemned to centuries of wandering before they could return to the spirit world where they came from. Sort of like they all came from heaven to start with and someday they'll go back.” “Sounds like the Garden of Eden,” Wade said. “Sumpin' like that,” said Little John. “The Ute Indians still sing songs about it. They even have songs about the grass and stars and the moon and such. Just about everything we see is sacred to Indians. But they don't just pray. They dance and sing like heck. Crazy stuff. I guess the Ute Indians came next from the east somewheres. And when those Indians got horses? Boy, history sure took off then! Apaches and Comanches raiding and Cheyennes and Arapahoes getting’ raided. All very colorful I must say. Indians was fightin' to not get pushed out and the whites were pushin' to get in and it was nothin' but turmoil and anguish and scalping and cattle rustlin'. What a mess.”

123 “Why do you think it was a mess?” Dennis the Menace asked as he retrieved a beer from the cooler in the aisle. “All that migration and movement, Mr. Nicholson. Of course, when white fellas discovered the gold and wanted the land for our cows and pigs and goats and sheep, well, we got the lawyers involved. And my teacher said she never met a lawyer couldn't screw somebody out of sumpin'.” “Your teacher said that?” “Yep. Smart teacher. She said the lawyers beat the Indians with paper plus a well-placed skirmish here and there. And that General Custer guy? What a dummy he was. He went around killin' Indians everywhere, maybe just for the fun of it, until the Indians got his number and slaughtered him and his rifle-totin’ friends at The Little Bighorn up in Montana. But the Indians, they couldn't compete in the long run. Weren't enough of them. Then the lawyers got them all tucked away in places where even rats can’t live. And that was the end of the Indians in a nutshell.” “You like history?” Kyle asked. “Not particularly,” Little John said. “Nothin' but people screwing' each other.” “Watch your language, John boy,” Evelyn said sharply. “Sorry, Mom. But it's true. And now we got the Spanish coming back again but this time they don't wear armor and they ain't on horses. They drive pick-up trucks that were stolen from the United States and sold in Mexico and they're coming back to Colorado to get jobs at the local ski resorts as janitors or they get roofing jobs on new condos. I see 'em all the time. I know how it goes. I got eyes in the front of my head. What a mess. And I never even talked about Christianity and that bag of tricks.” “You’re over-informed,” said Big John. “Well, they teach things different in schools than Mom does,” Little John said. “Okay, John. Let your brother speak now.”

124 Kevin turned off his Gameboy and took the microphone from his older brother. “My brother was pretty right about a lot of it, I guess. But he left out what happens next.” “What happens next?” Victoria asked. “Well, my teacher says we're all gonna marry each other in the next hundred years and we won't have any colors anymore. Not like black and white and yellow. She says we're gonna be intergated…” “Integrated,” corrected Evelyn. “And everybody in America will be tan.” “That won't work either,” Little John said. “Why not?” Kevin asked. “'Cuz we'll just have different shades of tan. Just like we got white, off-white, antique white, and dirty white. You watch. The lawyers will find a way to keep us all apart.” Kevin asked Big John, “Think we might live on a reservation someday, Pop?” “You never know, son.” “Think white people will vanish from America just like those Indians?” “In America anything is possible.” Big John reckoned.

All the other Indians signed the treaty but Sitting Bull. He left in disgust and outrage at the deception by the whites and the weakness of his people. As he climbed on his painted horse, a newspaper reporter asked, “How do the Native Americans feel about giving up their lands?” Sitting Bull shouted, “There are no Indians left but me!” And that was the end of his people.

“You won't see many rafts competing for the river,” the San Juan Forest Ranger told Big John. “Pretty much a Class II the whole way. Maybe a Class III in spots if you're lucky. They're filling up McPhee Reservoir for the summer, in case

125 we get hit with another big wildfire like last year. Where are you putting in?” “I want to catch some of Ponderosa Gorge so I guess we'll put in at Slick Rock,” Big John said. “Slick Rock it is. Out point?” “Let's see. Think we can make fifty miles?” “How long you want to be on the river?” “Three days, two nights.” “Everybody gonna paddle or you going with oars?” “We'll all paddle.” “Then you should be fine,” the ranger said. “An oar boat this time of year would be iffy. River's going to be nice and remote about now.” “How we looking for camp fires?” “Still allowed. Forest Service put some fire circles on some of the beaches. What are you doing for a toilet?” “I got a chemical one and we'll use the bushes.” “Well, do us a favor and carry that chemical waste out with the rest of your trash.” “Will do,” said Big John. He handed the ranger a list of names in his rafting party and was issued a park pass. “Might be your last trip for awhile, eh John Turner?” “Looks that way,” said Big John. “After my place is sold, who knows what. I suppose the big city will swallow me whole.” Big John paid his river fee and left the small office. He climbed back in the bus and pulled on the hydraulic lever, closing the door. “Slick Rock here we come!” Big John said into the p.a. system. “ETA is ninety minutes. Last chance for shut eye until camp tonight.” But nobody could sleep on the twisting road ahead, especially on short and narrow straight-backed vinyl bus seats designed for schoolchildren. Evelyn returned to her novel, the boys fell into their electronic laptop games and

126 everyone else just quietly enjoyed the unfolding scenery ahead. Wade folded his legs under him on the seat and turned to catch a breeze from the open side window. Victoria was in the seat behind him doing the same. Her eyes were closed. He studied her face for a long time - saw her thin age lines even under the makeup, noticed her delicate white hands, the painted toes, the outline of her breasts beneath her tee shirt. She was still a beautiful woman. But she didn't belong here. Not on the river float. If he didn't feel somehow protected with Pete and Kyle along he would have canceled his seat on one of the rafts. But things would turn out all right. So far, she'd left him alone. She was actually pretty sweet about things too. Free back rubs all around for anyone who needed one, always the first volunteer on KP duty, going into town for condiments or eggs. He thought about how lucky the next guy in her life would be. Beauty, wealth, travel, adventure. Yeah, the next guy would be lucky to have Victoria. She was quite a catch. That is, if she was the real deal and not a leopard hiding her spots. She opened her eyes lazily, smiling at him like a little girl woken from an afternoon nap. “What’s up?” “Just enjoying the scenery,” he said. “Me too.” She smiled and closed her eyes.

The in-point for the river was at the tiny town of Slip Rock, just off the road through a mature stand of Ponderosa pine and Fir. They had three rafts. Four people per raft. One in the bow, two in the middle, and a stern man to steer and give all commands. Everyone got to rotate seats over the fifty-mile river run with plenty of room in the boats for all their gear. “Tie the gear in good, especially the folding chairs. We’re gonna get wet today,” Big John warned before they put in the river for the first leg. “And whatever happens, don't lose

127 my dutch oven. I can't live without my pots and pans.” Big John liked to cook. It only took thirty minutes to load the boats and don the wet gear and life jackets. They planned to make ten miles on the first day, paddling and floating through Ponderosa Gorge to the open spaces of Gypsum Valley where they would camp in open grassland along the river. “The ground is comfortable there and it's easy foraging for firewood to the east,” Big John said.

Big John was in the lead raft with his family, Wade steered the second raft with Ronda and Victoria in the middle and Dennis the Menace at the bow. The other Olympian, Trevor Pryce, steered the last boat with Malachi taking the bow. Pete and Kyle hunkered down in the middle seats, secretly passing a joint between them. “Why is the river named after a woman?” Victoria asked Dennis and Wade after they shoved off. Wade smiled. “The Spanish name for the river is Rio de Nuestra Senora de las Dolores. River of our Lady of Sorrows. Whoever named it had their reasons, I suppose. Maybe it was because of the difficult rapids they discovered. Maybe someone they loved drowned on it. We'll never know the real history behind it.” “That dam we passed near the ranger station, is that where the river starts?” “No,” Dennis said, pointing east towards ragged snow- capped peaks. “The river starts way up there. At ten thousand feet just on the other side of Lizard Head Pass over near Telluride.” “Really?” she said. “Telluride?” “Yeah. Where all the movie stars live.” Victoria laughed. “Do you think movie stars make good lovers?” “Beats me,” Dennis said. “I got it on with a rock singer once,” Ronda said.

128 “How was he?” Victoria asked. “In bed? Terrible. Too many drugs.” The three rafts floated into the first canyon now. It was lined with red chalky walls that ran vertically several hundred feet. “This isn't anything yet,” Wade said. “Some of these canyons we go through reach as high as a thousand feet. We won't even see the sun then.” “As the river drops in elevation, watch how the geography changes,” Kyle called out to everyone. “We're sub-alpine now but when we reach Bedrock it will be desert.” “How long is this river?” Ronda asked. “From its headwaters to where it joins the magnificent Colorado? About two hundred miles.” Kyle said. “Hey, Ronda,” Pistol Pete said as he lit up a pipe. “I'm no rock star but I'd like to give you a little rock and roll in the hay.” “I'm thinking me and you under the stars on a sandy beach,” Kyle yelled to Ronda next. Ronda smiled back at them. “We're on the river less than five minutes and already you boys are naughty.” “We're not naughty. We're just horny,” Pistol Pete laughed. “Are all men as bad as you two?” All the men exchanged wild looks and responded “yes” in a convincing chorus.

The rafts floated northwest. It was like going back in time. The meandering brown river engraved a signature in the earth as it gushed through towering and mysterious canyon walls of red sandstone. Below Gypsum Valley the river plunged into Slick Rock Canyon with its magnificent accordion sandstone walls that only gave way for the narrow side canyons offering their own small contributions of water. The river was running lower than usual this time of year. Little John and Kevin were able to float up to several

129 pictographs some ancient man painted long ago on the walls at water level. “The mark of the Anasazi,” little Kevin said with reverent awe. Most of the pictographs were simple depictions of a hunt. Further downstream, Trevor Pryce pointed out an ancient Anasazi ruin on a high cliff. Evelyn looked for big horn sheep, deer, elk, and other mammals. Young Kevin swore he saw a burro grazing up above but it couldn't be verified by anyone else. Victoria was given bird watching duty for an occasional eagle or hawk. When the canyon narrowed Kyle described the local vegetation of pinon pine, juniper, yucca and cactus at shoreline. They all looked ahead for a campsite. Big John chose the eastern shore. It would give them a few more minutes of daylight. He also wanted a sandy beach so they wouldn't have to haul equipment inland, using the rafts as a windbreak. “There she is.” Big John pointed as they turned a bend. It was a beach shaped like an alluvial fan, maybe two hundred feet long. A small creek drained in from a serpentine side canyon, separating into a dozen trickling channels, creating the wide berth that took a million years to make. After they landed, all the rafters pitched in to unload the rafts. “We set up our tents first, then pitch in on the kitchen,” Big John ordered. Ronda stared back upstream. “What happens if they release water from the dam? Won't we get flooded out?” “I checked with the ranger on that,” Big John said. “It ain't going to happen.” “But what if it did?” “Then we're all screwed. There's no escape to higher ground here so we'd have to salvage what we could and make it to the rafts.”

130 “People die all the time in flash floods,” Ronda told Victoria. “Does anyone remember the Big Thompson flood up near Loveland? They had so much hard rain the canyon flooded in minutes. It carried down cars, trees, even houses. Swallowed up an entire town. Everybody died like that.” She snapped her fingers. “If it makes you feel any safer, you can sleep in one of the rafts,” Big John said. “I might just do that,” said Ronda. “Me, too,” smiled Pete. “Me, too,” added Kyle. “I'll take the middle raft,” said Ronda. “Me, too,” said Pete. “Me, too,” said Kyle. Ronda kicked sand at them. “Has it ever occurred to you horn dogs that I might be gay?” “Then I'm gay, too,” Pete said. “Me, too,” said Kyle. “Where do you want your tent, Victoria?” Dennis asked. Victoria sneaked a glance in both directions of the beach. Wade was setting up at the far end. “Up there, I suppose. Near Wade. It looks like he has a good spot.” Dennis pointed in the opposite direction. “Downstream seems pretty good.” “No. Up by Wade,” Victoria said without a hint of excitement in her voice. Dennis scratched his head as he picked up tent gear. “Here it goes, I guess. And believe me, Victoria, I want no part in this.” “You're just here for the river,” she said. “The rest is my business.” “I hear you loud and clear,” he said. “You're such a dear,” Victoria said. “No, I ain't. I'm a real shit,” he said. “And so are you.” “I'm just a simple girl,” she said.

131 “Simple my ass,” he said as he headed off towards Wade. He tossed the gear near Wade’s tent, laid a small tarp down and started erecting a tent. Wade looked up as he pounded stakes in the soft ground, taking small notice of his former coach. “Enjoy chasing the river today, Dennis?” he asked. “Nice and easy, Wade. You?” “To tell the truth? It got me thinking about home.” “Your wife?” “It’s no fun doing this sort of thing alone. Say, whatever happened to your last wife? What was her name?” “Number three? Monica.” “Yeah, Monica. I thought you two were real right for each other.” “Hell, Wade. She had issues. Big, deep, dark issues.” He looked down the beach and saw Victoria setting up a folding table with the boys. “And between you and me? I got no part in this.” “No part in what?” Dennis indicated the tent he was erecting. “This is for Queen Victoria.” After he finished erecting it he walked away to join the others. Wade grimaced and tossed a stone into the river. “Here we go, it looks like.” He knelt down and put his sleeping bag in his tent. “Should have seen it coming. Goddamit, I should have seen it coming.”

After the camp kitchen was set up, Dennis and Trevor Pryce grabbed some fishing poles and waded downstream to try their hand at supper. The river was home to Cutthroats, Brown and Rainbow trout. It was near dark. After an hour without a nibble, Dennis said to Trevor, “If there's fish in this river, they ain't here.”

132 They whiffed the aroma of dinner and reluctantly returned to camp. “Smells like Evelyn made Swiss steak,” Denny said. Trevor sniffed the air. “Big John burned his bread again.” “He never could master the art of a Dutch oven,” Denny laughed. “There's some things a man has no business doing,” Trevor said. “And for Big John, that's cooking.” After a hearty riverside dinner under the glow of Coleman lanterns, the rafters circled around the campfire Little John had started. Two beer coolers, cups, and a box of red wine were dragged in close. “Dad, can I pass out the booze?” Young Kevin asked. “No. You're too young to be handling alcohol,” his mother ordered. “What's the big deal?” Kevin said. “Someday I'll be drinking booze just like everybody else. And I'll bet I can drink more than anybody!” “Now that's a goal to aim for,” John kidded his wife. “Don't encourage him,” she said.

The clear night sky produced a blanket of stars for everyone to gaze at. Then the tall tales started. One by one, river rats took turns trying to scare the living bejesus out of the two Turner boys with macabre tales about serial killers, river ghosts and Indian burial grounds. The kids had heard all the stories before but never let on they knew. Some stories just got better with age. Earlier in the day, on the bus ride over when all the men were at the mineral springs together, Big John conspired with his two boys. Just when he started his famous mental patient escaping from the hospital story, the kids slipped off. “Just heard about it on the radio today,” Big John said to Victoria and Ronda with concern. “Just up the canyon, maybe a mile downstream, there's a crazy house some serial

133 killer escaped from. Authorities say he's following the river, away from the roads.” On and on the story went, building tension and suspending disbelief until the Turner boys leapt into the middle of the campfire circle from the blackness, their faces caked in ketchup and arms tucked in their pants. Victoria's and Ronda pretended real screams. That was how it was supposed to work. The boys took great pride in the trick. But Ronda and Victoria knew about boys. When the kids slipped away they knew there was a surprise coming. Still, it was a good laugh.

134 PARADOX

The rafts emerged from the overhangs of Slip Rock Canyon in the early morning. They were in Paradox Valley now. The cliffs gave way to an open expanse of semi-arid land on either side. The San Juan Mountains looked like an enormous painting to the east. This time, Kevin really did see a wild burro and pointed it out for the other rafts. Smaller animals were spotted. A couple of snowshoe hares, what looked like a beaver or badger and a burly surly mad porcupine. As they floated past him, the porcupine yapped away on a rock, shaking his body furiously and turning around as if to shoot quills at the rafts and sink them. “What's he in such a stink about?” Little John asked. “Maybe he missed mating season.” Pete said. “Well, here's your chance,” Ronda said with a grin. She spent an hour the night before fighting off the small verbal advances of first Pete, then Kyle in the rafts. They passed a few less experienced self-bailing raft groups on Avons along the way and were themselves passed by four kayaking girls from a college in Durango. But the girls didn't pass freely. The rafts blocked the river and a water fight ensued. In the end, everyone was grateful for the cool drenching. Before the girls got too far downstream, Kyle dove off his raft and proposed marriage to one of them. “Sorry,” she laughed, “But you are such a geek!” Kyle went belly down in the river and feigned death until Ronda, who was in his raft today, plucked him out of the

135 water, and pretended to be giving him artificial resuscitation. It was actually a deep wet kiss. “Gross!” Kevin said. “Kyle scores again,” sour Pete said to Wade. “Looks like I'll be getting drunk tonight.” The Paradox Valley was once known as a route for cattle rustlers selling stolen beef to local miners. This time of year, the valley was a refuge for migrating waterfowl, mostly mergansers and great blue herons. Victoria couldn't name a bird species to save her life even though she insisted bird watching was something she was deeply interested in. “Maybe you should join the Denver Bird Watching Club,” Kyle said. “Maybe I will,” Victoria said. “Maybe you won't,” Denny laughed. “Maybe I'll just start my own bird channel. What do you think of that!” Victoria exclaimed. Nobody could care less. They'd been with Victoria long enough by now to realize she'd say anything chipper just to please but that she didn't have any conviction in her words. She also seemed to absently mention her great wealth all the time. It was annoying. Little rich girl doesn't even know she does it. Wade wondered if anyone else thought she was lopsided. Lopsided and needy. They stopped for lunch at a deserted riverside cabin and paddled hard in the afternoon to stay on schedule. There were two hours of daylight left when Big John decided to camp near some Indian ruins in a giant meadow of soft grass. Worn paths offered dozens of private individual sites and from the air, the meadow must have looked like a crop circle from all the human foot traffic. Everyone hiked up to the ancient ruins together before setting up camp. A posted sign by the Forest Service kindly asking campers not to use the ruins for shelter. Fresh wooden ladders accommodated the curious up and down the ruins.

136 Inside most of them, the peculiar modern creature known as Graffiti Man had left his mark scrawled on the walls and low ceilings. Thousands of names and dates and who loved who and gang logos and indecipherable spray paintings were everywhere. “Look at this shit,” Big John said. “People don't have respect for anything anymore. They'd probably spray-paint their names on Mount Rushmore if the place wasn't guarded.” As he left one ruin, his sons stayed behind and pulled out Swiss Army knives. They hurriedly scratched their initials and the date on the wall. No one caught them. Everyone left the ruins disappointed. This time, before he set up his own tent, Wade waited and waited to see where Victoria was setting up her tent. As he pretended to be busy gathering firewood, he caught her slyly looking his way at least a half dozen times. He wondered if there was a way he could climb out of here and hitch to the nearest telephone to tell his wife that he was rafting with an old girlfriend and that he was doing his best to keep out of trouble. Katie will laugh all the way to divorce court. But I'm going to tell her about it as soon as I can. I have to tell her. It's what our relationship is all about. Honest and open. That's how a couple makes it in today's world. Since there wasn't a telephone around, he thought of carving WADE & KATIE in one of the ruins. Then maybe in ten years he could come back down the Dolores with Katie and their twelve kids and he'd show what he was up to on the infamous trip when Victoria Paley tried to seduce him. He'd even sit around the campfire here and tell one of Big John's massacre stories and his oldest twin sons could jump out of the bushes and scare Katie and the other five pairs of twins. As he worked his way to a stand of trees through the meadow, Wade spotted all kinds of birds. Nothing endangered like peregrines and bald eagles. There were

137 ravens, flickers, gray jays, and some mountain bluebirds. Dozens of hummingbirds were skittering near flowering yuccas looking for nectar. He heard a woodpecker across the river tapping away at the bark of a pine tree looking for insects. After several trips for firewood, Wade noticed Dennis helping Victoria erect a tent close to the river. He wasn't sure whose it was and casually said, “That yours, Dennis?” “Naw, Vic here. She can't figure out these North Face tents to save her life.” Dennis looked at Victoria. “How'd you get so successful without knowing anything?” “I have people for this,” she said. “Yeah. I suppose I’m one of them,” Dennis growled. Wade picked up his own tent and sleeping bag and followed a narrow path leading towards the ruins. Near the ruins he veered off on an even narrower path and finally found a spot where he could put up his tent and hide when nightfall came. “She'll have to use bloodhounds to find me here,” Wade smiled. He didn't see Victoria on the small hill above her own site making a mental note of his journey.

The clean evening air descended on the camp and intoxicated even the boys. While all the women got started on the Shake 'N Bake fried chicken, Wade wrapped all the Idaho potatoes in foil and tucked them away in the coals of a slow-burning fire. The Turner boys were downstream on a small rock jutting into the river shucking two dozen ears of corn. “Hey, dad,” Little John called out. “Okay if we let the corn shucks go in the river?” “Sure. It's biodegradable.” Big John was haplessly fishing, mulling over the recent news that nobody wanted a new batch of his world famous biscuits with their evening meal.

138 On a small table, Trevor Pryce was making Margaritas for the gang as fast as he could with Kyle and Pete challenging all the adults with tequila shots followed by a lemon wedge. By the time sunset dinner rolled around, tipsy Victoria Paley was a Chatty Cathy doll. “This is remarkable - This is outstanding - Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers - I wish I had a brother like you (To Little John) and Why Rhett Butler, how you do go on (to Kyle). She even stood on a log reciting, “Oh Romeo, where art you therefore Romeo” (to Trevor). After she dropped her first dinner plate in the sand, Dennis took it upon himself to hand feed her. An hour passed. Everyone sat around the fire with full bellies; staring west at the outline of the distant mountains as the sun loped away. A purple hue engulfed the meadows on both sides of the river and the nearby cliffs had turned a melancholy gray and pink. “In California? When the sun goes down in the ocean? It's like a candlewick going out. Really a sight,” said Wade. “Think the bison ever came here to graze?” Little John asked. “Maybe,” said his dad, adding logs to create a bonfire. “Think they'll ever come back?” It was Kevin asking. “No, son. The giant buffalo herds are a thing of the past.” “Anybody here ever hear the prophecy of the fish-eaters?” Pete asked. Pete liked all kinds of mythologies. The Turner boys rubbed their heels in the sand, digging in for a good story. “Over a hundred years ago there was this Indian fella named Wovoka of the Paiute tribe,” Pete said. “Other Indians called them fish-eaters because they...” Everyone answered, “Ate a lot of fish.” “Smart crowd!” Pete winked at Kevin. “This Wovoka was a wise man, his tribe's greatest prophet. One night, this Wovoka fellow, he went into a trance. In a vision he saw the future with millions and millions of buffalo returning to the

139 Great Plains. The buildings, roads and trains of the white man were all gone and the land had returned to its primal state. “’How is this possible?’” Wovoka asked. Old Wovoka saw Jesus Christ himself next. Jesus was a red man now, just like old Wovoka. Jesus told him never to wage any kind of war with the white man and some day, the land would return to its rightful owners - the Indians. That Wovoka fella, he was surprised to see a red Jesus. Jesus told the wise man that in the beginning...” “Beginning of what?” asked Kevin. “When God made the earth,” Pete said, expanding his hands with an invisible earth between them. “Wovoka said that God the Father decided to send his only son Jesus Christ to teach the white man. But the whites, they wanted no part of the wisdom of Jesus so they poked spears in him and even nailed him to a tree and all sorts of other terrible things until Jesus finally expired!” “You mean he died on the cross,” Kevin said. “He died on the white man's cross, but to the Indians he died on a tree,” Pete said. “But Jesus only died physically. His Great Spirit, it rose up to heaven. Now Wovoka said Jesus was coming back a second time. And this time he was red. And Jesus told Wovoka he was here a second time so the Indians could put things back the way things were supposed to be.” “The Garden of Eden reborn,” Ronda said. “Jesus told Wovoka that the dead would all rise again, the grass would grow tall, and all the buffalo would return. He said all the Indians who believed would rise above the earth, like angels, and a New World would be created at their feet. Also, when that New World was finished being created, all the believers could return to earth and be with all their ancestors and life would be good again. Jesus even taught wise old Wovoka a celebration dance.” “Jesus didn't know how to dance,” Kevin laughed.

140 “Sure he did!” Pete rose to his feet and started dancing. “He docey-doed, and cotton-eye Joe'd and danced around and around!” Pete pulled Ronda to her feet and they danced around the fire circle as everyone sang and clapped to The Hokey Pokey. “You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out....” After the song, Pete delivered Ronda to her seat and resumed his own chair to finish the story. He leaned in towards the bonfire, his glowing face accentuating the tale. “Where was I?” “You say Jesus taught that old Indian to dance?” Kevin asked eagerly. It was vital information for a fascinated boy. “That's right. Jesus taught him something called the Ghost Dance. It was supposed to celebrate the resurrection of their dead. But the white man feared it and it was outlawed!” “Why do such a thing as that?” “Beats me, boys. I'm just telling the facts.” “I know why,” said Victoria drunkenly. “Why?” Evelyn asked. Victoria sounded obnoxious. “It's an old business trick. The old switcheroo.” She hiccuped. “All the Indians suddenly care about is their stupid dance while the white guys are writing up contracts and truces. When they all get to the negotiating table, all the Indians care about is whether or not the dance made it into the contract while all the whites care about is oil rights and timber rights. The old switcheroo. A perversion of the facts for the uneducated mob. In the media we do it all the time.” “Why?” Trevor asked. “Why? Because we can. People are cattle. Fodder for marketing machines that control human behavior. Who really needs three hundred channels of pay-per-view? We show fragile people what we want them to see and direct their emotions to make the wrong purchasing decisions. It's

141 about profits. People are ignorant. Stupid, actually. Duping the public is pure business.” “Sounds like we're all suckers,” Big John said. “Maybe you are,” Victoria said. “You bought a rafting company in a highly competitive market. Did you do any research? Cash flow analysis? What was your marketing strategy? Web design? Coupons? Building a loyal customer base. Did you do any of that?” “I tried.” “You failed.” She was very blunt. Big John crushed a beer can and tossed it into a pile of discarded others. “It isn’t as simple as all that,” he said. “Nothing was handed to me with a bow on it like you.” “I grew my family business,” Victoria bragged. “Doubled our profits, in fact. I paid attention to all the details.” “Hurrah for you, Queen Victoria.” Victoria’s head bobbed and when her eyes refocused she glared at Malachi through the flames of the fire. “But then you know all about everything, don't you, hotshot?” She raised her beer can in mock praise to Malachi now. “I'm tired of you,” she said. “Tired of your always sitting around and taking it all in but never putting anything out. What's your take on the universe?” she asked, spilling beer on her lap. “Huh? What did Wawahaka teach you? Huh? Show us the wisdom of your youth if there's any wisdom to be had!” A wry smile crossed Malachi's lips. He took a deep breath and rose from his seat. Little Kevin stared up at Malachi, picturing old Wovoka coming back from the dead to speak, an ancient wisdom from far away, using Malachi's body as a medium. “We wait and wait and wait for something to happen,” Malachi spoke dreamily. “But it never happens - the rain of realization never arrives. And so we sit and sit and sit and grow bitter and angry and cold inside until there is no more

142 good tomorrow, only the yesterday that never was, our valuable precious time spent chasing ghosts. And we sit and sit and sit until there is no more sitting - only the final night's sleep from which there is no awakening.” “Death,” Big John said. “Yes. Death.” “Hell,” Pete guessed drunkenly. “Us river rats? We're just a bunch of chirping wet grasshoppers singin' till the end of our time or until the rivers run dry.” “Chasing the river,” Wade said. “Chasing a dream,” Malachi countered. He stared at his comrades one at a time, finally settling on Victoria. “What about you, Miss Paley?” he asked. “Why are you here?” “You mean here right now?” Victoria's eyes were blurry. Dennis the Menace glanced at Wade and guffawed. “I know why she's here.” “I mean, here on earth,” said Malachi. “Yeah, Victoria,” Ronda said. “With all that money and power, what exactly do you do with it besides doubling your profits?” “That's between me and my accountant.” “What a bullshit answer!” Everyone agreed. “I think I have the answer for Victoria,” Malachi offered. Boy, Wade thought. The kid is finally opening up. “Victoria is worthless,” Malachi said. “Worthless unto herself and others. Victoria doesn't value people, she values...” “Victoria!” Kyle announced. “Victoria!” the adults chimed in. “Kiss my ass,” Victoria said with a paper mache smile. “It is true, isn't it?” Malachi said. “That's between me and...” Her voice faded off. She couldn't find an answer. “One last opinion,” Malachi said ominously. “Life is but a blink of God's eye.”

143 “What you're saying is don't wait and wait and wait?” Wade asked. “You can never reach tomorrow. It's a physical impossibility.” “Chasing the river.” A log collapsed in the firepit, sending up a high shower of sparks. Malachi continued in a softly poetic voice. “There is an ancient belief surrounding a creature known as the Mute Swan. It is completely silent during its entire lifetime until the moment before it dies.” “And then what?” asked Pete. “It sings a beautiful song.” “And then what?” asked Kevin. “It dies.” “How sad,” said Ronda. A pregnant silence followed. Wade cleared his throat. “I suppose this little float trip is our own swan song. The end of things together, never to be revived… funny though, the last couple of years away from all this? I had thought my river days were behind me. But here I sit… resurrected, if you will, and yet… I want that one last great triumphant song, that one last great race where I go out with a yell instead of a whimper… To close the book on these aquatic adventures of mine once and for all.” Big John spoke up. “But alas, misspent youth, the probability of your going out on top is wildly implausible. Like me, you are destined to shrivel up and die, wondering just what the hell happened. My river days are over. I’ll never come back.” Everyone talked in small groups now, trying to grasp big things until finally, there it lay between them all - in the blue and red heart of the fire. The truth that there was no big American dream left for any of this assembly, just the ambivalence of a fading culture slowly dying until the next culture arrived. Their lives weren't part of a grand picture.

144 Their lives were day by day and minute by minute. Their lives were about loved ones and people next door and community and friends. Not America. There was no real America. It was a lie, a myth designed by the Victoria Paleys of the world to sell commercial time on television channels across the country and around the world. The rafters needed to breathe now, stretch away from their impoverished dreams. “Okay, this is getting depressing,” Trevor finally said. “Who is up for marshmallows?” He passed out sticks and marshmallows. Everyone but Victoria leaned in to the pit to find his or her own particular flame for roasting. Wade watched his marshmallow burn down, down, down to a useless black until there was absolutely nothing left. Just like my dream of the Olympics, shriveling down to nothing. Just like how I feel inside. He glanced at Victoria. She was watching him. Her eyes were bleary but they were definitely watching him. She took a long sip of beer. That's it, Victoria. Drink yourself into oblivion.

Two hours passed. Getting drunk at night had an absolute legitimacy on the river. It was payback for a day of hard work. It put city people in touch with nature and put nature people even more in touch with themselves. Now Victoria was really lit. A blathering idiot. She didn't stop at Margaritaville or the tequila shots. She made the fatal mistake of mixing her colors; tequila white, Burgundy red, beer yellow, two shots of cola-colored Jack Daniels and at least three hits on the marijuana pipe that Pete and Kyle secretly passed among the adults willing to imbibe. Victoria was toast. She sat in her camp chair with the deep heavy breathing of a drunk on the verge of collapse, staring at everyone through narrowed eyes and heavy lids. She looks pathetic. Wade frowned. It won't be long now.

145 She suddenly thought it was important to defend why she was so sticky and gooey today to everyone. “It's the river,” she reasoned. “All brown and yucky. I'm not like you people. I bathe everyday. I work out in a private club with my trainer - I fired the other one. I got no time for this. You people are costing me money. Any minute now my helicopter's coming in to take me to a nice warm bed with linen sheets and a nice warm bubble bath... Sleeping on the ground is barbaric…” Her sentences started and fell away. Ideas came and went before the conclusion of a reasonable explanation. Needy and sloppy, Wade thought. He stood up and announced he was turning in for the evening. Twenty minutes after he went to bed, she somehow stumbled back to his campsite through the meadow now overrun with biting insects. Victoria knelt down, fumbling with the zipper fly on the tent's screen. “Who's there?” Wade said. He knew exactly who was there. “It's me,” she said. “Vic.” Hiccup. “Toria. I came to tuck you in.” “I'm already tucked in.” Wade said. “Goodnight, Victoria.” “No - it's not a good night.” Hiccup. “Nobody likes me but you, Bones. I can tell. Not even little boys.” She kept fumbling for the tent zipper. “I'm coming in.” “I'll come out instead,” he said. Wade unzipped the tent, popping his head out into the cool night air. Victoria was leaning on her side, a limp arm magically supporting her as she reached for his faraway face shining in the moonlight. “Just like an angel, you are! My little angel!” she said. “Pretty Bones Jones. Bonesy Jonesy, prettiest boy that ever lived.”

146 Wade punched his way out of the tent and stood. “Victoria, you need some sleep.” “I'm sleeping with you,” she said, with a decided roll of the head. “Not gonna happen,” Wade said. “I'm married. Happily married.” “Screw her and the horse she rode in on,” Victoria said. Her arm unbuckled and she fell back in the sand, struggling to right herself. “The little bitch just showed up without any kind of credentials and swiped you away - just like that. I have good reason to kick her ass.” Wade pulled her to her feet. “You're not kicking anybody's ass tonight,” he said. “Now c'mon. I'll carry you to your tent.” He put an arm around her, propping her up. She fell into him, breathing out her drunken stink. “Let's stay here and screw,” she said. “Just like old times.” She fumbled inside her pullover. “Got a candle here somewhere.” She found the candle, handed it to Wade and took a wobbly step back. “Got another surprise,” she said, dropping her pants down to her knees. “A red thong. See? Put it on just for you! All the way out here in the middle of nowhere I got a special red thong on for you!” Wade reached over to pull her pants back up. “No, Victoria.” “What do you mean 'no'?” “You and I - it was a thing of the past - a nice memory but it's over.” “It isn't over until I say....” “It's over, Victoria.” “And I say it isn’t!” She pushed away and threw herself into the tent. “Get in here,” she hiccuped. “I got more to show you.”

147 Wade just stood there, staring up at the blinking sky, searching for the three stars on Orion's belt. He smiled to himself when he found it. His star was on the left. Katie's on the right. The one in between - that was fate. The middle star was what kept them together. Now he had this stupid drunken bitch in his tent ranting and raving about ancient history. “Get out of the tent, Vic.” “No,” she giggled playfully. Her sweatshirt flew at his feet. “Get in here.” He stared up at Orion again until her pants flew out, followed by a red bra. He could see it was red even in the darkness. “Victoria....” Her hand reached out, tugging at his leg, fingers skipping up and down to tickle. “Come on Wade. Just like old times.” “Dammit Victoria. You’re pathetic.” He snapped his leg away and tossed her clothes back in the tent. “I'm married,” he said again. “I'm married and that's the end of it!” He marched off down the path toward the light of the distant campfire. When he arrived, everyone was still there. Big John ordered his sons to bed. “Tough day tomorrow. Better get some shut eye.” Wade grabbed a Heineken from a cooler and pounced down on an empty canvas chair, his back to the meadow. As he popped open his beer, he saw Big John's mouth drop, the wide eyes on his two sons and Evelyn's look of horror as Victoria stumbled into the campfire light. She was naked, searching the faces of everyone until she recognized Wade, dropping onto him, clawing at him like a cat. “You ruined me!” she cawed. “You took it all away! But now you'll pay! You'll pay, you bastard!” Wade reached out blindly to hold her off, but she was rabid now. Crazy. Malachi stepped behind her, grabbing her arms and pulling her back. She used her feet as weapons

148 now, kicking out at Wade's face as she bit at Malachi's hands. Others moved in to restrain her and finally held her down until she stopped moving. All Wade could do was sit there. Covered up. “I didn't do a goddamned thing to deserve this,” he said. “I love my wife and that's all there is to it.” “We know, Wade. We know,” Pete reassured him. Wade looked at the group. “Couldn't you see?” he asked. “Couldn't you see how this would end? She doesn't belong here. She never did! She isn't anything like us!” Victoria lay there in a heap buried under sobs of despair. She frothed at the mouth, puking up the goo of drinks and dinner. “I hate him,” she mumbled. “Wade Jones ruined me.” Evelyn found a blanket on a chair and covered her up. “Calm down now, just calm down.” She turned to Wade. “Wade, can you fetch her clothes?” Wade ripped up from his chair and bolted down the path to his tent. Dennis followed behind. “She’s just drunk. It'll pass,” Dennis said. Wade turned on the dark path, discovering Denny's eyes with his own. “I'm done, Dennis. My time is over.” “Hell, Wade. She was just drunk.” “It's not even about Victoria. I got a wife I love and new responsibilities. It's time for me to go home. It's time for a real life,” Wade said. Dennis understood. “I saw it coming for you,” he said. “Saw it start in the last Olympics. You left us all behind.” “I didn’t mean to.” “But you did, Wade. Especially me.” Dennis started back towards the fire ring, seeing observant Malachi standing there in the dark. “What about you, Dennis?” Malachi whispered. “You ready to quit the river or do you expect to go out the hard way?” “How's that?” Dennis asked.

149 “You want the river to do the job?” Denny gave a melancholy smile, placing a friendly hand on Malachi's shoulder. “I'm getting old, son, standing on that high hill of age and pissed away wisdom. I got no money. Nobody to call when I'm lonely. Nowhere to go except a bar stool every night. What better way to die than in the loving arms of my watery mistress?” He pointed at the river. “Look at it. Look at that slow quiet flowing river. She never stops moving, never stops talking and breathing. So full of life. She'll still be here long after I'm gone and she's the only woman that ever stood by me. Like a mama's womb calling me back to the beginning. You tell me. How would you want to go if you were me?” “What if the river never claims you?” Malachi asked. “What then?” “Oh, she'll have her day,” Dennis smiled. “Someday she'll swallow me whole and never spit me out. And back to the womb I will be.” Malachi sighed deeply and nodded. “We all have a destiny.” “That we do,” Dennis said. He returned to check on Victoria. Malachi stayed in the darkness. He watched Wade Jones returning with Victoria's crumpled clothes. The older man's head was bowed. He was crying. No words were exchanged as they returned to the campfire. Good for him, Malachi thought. Wade's going home. Sobbing Victoria sat in the sand, flailing and resisting as Evelyn and Ronda pulled sweatpants and a tee shirt over her. Pete and Trevor picked her up and set her on a recliner and she vomited in the sand. Dennis returned with a sleeping bag and an inflatable pillow to make Victoria comfortable. “She'll be okay out here,” Evelyn said solemnly. “The fresh air will be good for her.”

150 “Come on, boys,” Big John said coolly. “Off to bed, you two. Excitement's over.” Little John led Kevin to their tent with his flashlight. As they hiked along the path, little Kevin Turner giggled. “Did you see her things?” “Yeah.” “What did you think?” Little John punched his brother in the arm. “I want to see more.” “Me too, I guess,” Kevin gleamed. After the brothers settled down in their tent, John Junior turned off the flashlight. “What else you gonna tell me about girls?” Kevin begged. “Everything I learn I'll tell you. How's that?” “EVERYTHING?” “Sure. Why not? We're brothers.” “Best friends,” Kevin smiled wearily. “Forever, right?” “Forever, little brother.” Kevin could sleep now. “Goodnight, John.” “Goodnight, Squirt.” “John?” “Yeah Squirt? “Do all titties look the same?” “Naw, they come in all sizes. Just like people.” “Dang.”

The honor that is lost in a moment cannot be restored in a hundred years. Italian Proverb

151 DOWN THE SEWER

Victoria Paley woke up sticky. She was lying on the beach by the white carbon ash pile that was last night's blaze. Her tongue tasted sand. The reclining chair was tipped on its side next to her. The left side of her head was buried almost to her eyeball, banging from an interior hammer. It wasn't even light yet, but the moon was already gone. The flapping sound of something approaching woke her. It was the heavy beating of a Bald Eagle's wings close to the river's surface followed by the slapping snatch and grab of a doomed Rainbow trout. Victoria opened her unburied red eye, staring at the killer eagle as it hurried up into the sky, the desperate fish speared on its talons. She couldn't care less. A busy morning rush hour of sand flies swarmed inches above her head. She lifted a sore arm and swatted at them. “Go away. Filthy little beasts.” And then she smelled something. It was close. It was godawful. “What the...?” She couldn't fathom it. Everything seemed wrong, smelled wrong here. She pulled herself upright. Loose sand dribbled into her lap from her hair. She smoothed away the crumbs of sand from her left eye and opened it. Now she had two blood red eyes to work with. She studied her arms and legs. Insect bites everywhere. Spiders, fleas, gnats, mosquitoes. She didn't know. She looked at the tipped chair. “How did I get here?”

152 She thought about the previous evening; nothing came. She set her mind to it; more intense now; still nothing came. “Shit. I blacked out!” She noticed her pullover in the sand, then her red bra and panties sticking out of one of the pockets. I had those on... she thought. I put them on after we made camp and then... But nothing came. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes as if to drum up a memory. She saw Margaritas, whiskey bottles and distorted faces laughing at her. What happened last night? Something happened... Why am I out here alone? Something happened. Did I even eat dinner? Her stomach was empty, growling for food. She saw Dennis coming from the river, carrying a dead gray fish at the end of his fishing pole. Did I... Did I do something with him? Are we the only ones here? Did he seduce me? Take advantage of me somehow? Did that old bastard touch me? Do these people use date rape drugs? Is that how they get their kicks on the river? Take the innocents along and dupe them? “Good morning, Miss Paley. Ain't you a sight?” Dennis said. “Wha... happened? How did I get out here?” “You slept out here. We woulda chained you down but nobody thought to bring one.” “Chains... What? What are you talking about, Dennis?” “You made a fool of yourself last night. You were a regular freak show. A full-blown walkin' talkin' banshee. I'm sure those young boys liked it.” “Liked what?” she asked, staring at the panties. Did those boys touch me? Did they undress me? They could have. They're sick little things with their frogs and their creepy stories. “I don't remember a thing.”

153 “Probably best that way,” Dennis answered. “'Cuz everyone else sure will.” “Dammit, Dennis. My head is falling off. Don't talk in circles.” “Fine, Miss Paley. I'll tell you what happened but first, you need to clean yourself up. You smell like a shit hole.” “A shit....” “You puked all over yourself. Nothin' none of us could do with all that kickin' and screamin'. Now you got upchuck hair.” “Kicking, screaming, up what?” “Look, why don't you get in the river and wash that stench out? I'll grab a towel, some soap and shampoo and I'll tell you all about your little campfire show after you're fit for human consumption.” “Dammit, Dennis. I'm paying you to watch me.” “On the river, Miss Paley. Not on the land. What you did here was your own business. That's what we agreed on. Remember? It's strictly business between us and may I make a small suggestion?” “What?” she snapped. “Fire your shrink.” “Oh, God! I don't remember anything right now. I've never been so filthy!” Dennis pulled her to her feet. “You, you didn't touch me last night?” she asked with verve. “Because if you did...” “Shut your ass up and clean up before anyone else sees you, you stupid, self-centered...” He raised his hand as if to strike her, then slowly brought it back to his side. “You were going to hit me!” “I was gonna knock you on your ass,” he said. “Now get in the river. I'll get the soap.” He walked away. Snippets and pieces. A tent. Undressing. Tripping in the dark. Wade's face. Something about Wade last night. She

154 remembered standing on a hill before everything twisted. She saw Wade in the distance at the far end of the meadow putting up a tent... As she thought, her skittish fingers touched her hair... “Oh, my God!” There were chunks of food in her hair! Chicken bits and onions and pieces of vegetables that looked like they came from a salsa dip. “Oh my God!” She said again. She forgot all about the hangover, the previous evening, Wade Jones, the trip. All she knew was that she was filthy and dirty like an unclean animal. She had to reach the river, had to plunge herself in and drain off the rot of whatever happened last night. “What have these people done to me?” The water was cold. Victoria waded in the river up to her chest, then dipped her entire body into the brown water, scrubbing her head with dirty hands and filthy fingers, drowning all the idiot gnats and sand flies. She stared back at the ugly campsite and all the filthy tents scattered around the meadow like some hobo shantytown. She saw Dennis in the distance, digging through a bag for soap. And then she remembered what he just said... “Good morning, Miss Paley.” Not “Good morning Victoria or Vic,” but “Miss Paley.” That rat bastard traitor. She dipped her head underwater again and screamed silently. Suddenly something BIG slammed into her, knocking her back. The thing stayed with her, filling her mouth with wet fur, dragging her into the deeper current. She found her hands, pressed up against whatever it was, pushing at it, fighting the thing as it carried her along. I'm being raped again! Something hard and boney pressed against her now. She grabbed onto it, used it as a buoy to find the surface, and then kicked away from the creature's mass. She found her

155 feet and stood waist deep in the water, watching the carcass of a dead cow as it drifted away. Birds sat on the rotting beast like passengers on a dinner cruise. Black crows. I hate birds. They pecked away at the fleshy head of the beast, boring inside its skull for pieces of meat. The eyes were eaten miles ago. She wanted to scream, she wanted to run, she wanted her dead father to call and tell her that this was a bad dream and that he loved her and missed her and should have sat her on his lap more when she was a child. Dennis waded in to the stream with the soap and towel, noticing the floating carcass. “Probably fell off a cliff in the middle of the night,” he guessed. “Tell me what happened, Dennis! Tell me why I'm hated so! Even God hates me!” Victoria cried. Dennis glanced back to shore. People were awake now, coming out of the comforting cocoons of their tents. He stepped out of the river and sat on the beach and told her about last night. She didn't believe a word he said. He called me Miss Paley. Rat bastard traitor. Tents were struck, hurried breakfasts eaten on distant rocks. Everyone avoided Victoria now. “Better get some breakfast before it's all packed up. Got a long day,” Dennis told her. “I don't want breakfast! Get me to an airport,” Victoria said. “Listen, Miss Paley,” Denny's teeth clenched. “Here's how the day is going to go. You're going to finish the float like everybody else. You're going to ride the bus back to the Arkansas. Just like everybody else. Then we'll pack up, get in your vehicle and drive back to Denver. Then you will pay me and then we will say adios. You got it?”

156 She pulled back from him, feeling his abandonment. “Got it.” These people. They were her enemies now. Low class white trash. She saw Wade Jones coming down a path. He had a black eye and scratches on his arms, face and neck. He walked right by her as if she was invisible and stowed his gear in a raft. After a few minutes, Big John shouted, “Okay, everybody! We're burning daylight! Let's move 'em out!” Victoria put on her sunglasses and silently loaded up the rafts with everybody else. She had to think about damage control now. Her public image. What the press could do with all this. Images of famous women shunned by society. Scandal! She would have to bribe these people. The evil little boys too. Yeah kid, she said silently to little Kevin as he glanced her way. You saw my tits. Just remember these tits are about to pay for your college education. From behind her sunglasses, she stared at Wade Jones too. He looked weak and small. You'll pay for this Wade Jones. You and all your friends. You'll all pay for what you did to me. On the last leg of the trip, she shared a boat with Dennis, Trevor Pryce, and Ronda. She silently wished they would all see the dead cow too, but they never did. She wanted them to see what her money was going to do to them. Traitors.

157 THE GLOVE IS DROPPED

It was an uneventful bus ride back to the Arkansas River camp from the River of Sorrows. Evelyn read her book behind Big John as he drove the bus in a heavy downpour of unanticipated rain. Everyone else slept. When they arrived, Big John immediately loaded up his family and left for their new home in Fort Collins. Victoria Paley had called him a failure and he didn’t want to be around for any more of her bitter bad medicine. Late that evening, after the rain stopped, most of the float trip group assembled back in the messhall. A few new faces had drifted in to camp the past three days and everyone was catching up on all the latest gossip. No one wanted to talk much about the Dolores River float trip. It was time to move on and get back to kayaking. “We run the Upper Arkansas from Clear Creek Reservoir to the wash-out at Bighorn Canyon.” Kyle stood up drunkenly. “What do you think of that?” Trevor Pryce said, “I propose a contest to eliminate all the pussies around here.” Pete finished taking a swig from the group whiskey bottle. “What kind of contest?” “A process of elimination. The man or woman that paddles the furthest in four hours wins.” “Make it better,” said Pete, taking another drink. “Make it six hours,” Bob Pilse said. “Easy for you to say, Bob. You've got three days on the river while we were on siesta,” Dennis said. “Is it true you're shoving off Dennis?”

158 “Yeah. Soon as the princess finishes her shower.” “Rafting's for sissies,” someone said. “Heard it was a wild finish though,” someone snickered. “Let’s just drop it,” Dennis the Menace said. “About the river - if we're going to go six miles, we may as well make it a full working day,” Kyle said. He took the bottle of Jack Daniels from Pete. “Pete ain't worked an eight-hour day since he cashed out of telecom,” someone laughed. Kyle slid the bottle of whiskey across a table to Malachi. He slid it to Wade. He passed and slid it back to Kyle. Kyle took another red-eyed swig. Victoria appeared outside on the porch. Her hair and makeup were perfect. She was wearing a Diane Von Furstenburg pants suit. (Her three thousand dollar emergency clothes.) She sat on one of the wooden benches by an open window, listening in. “Better yet,” Pete said. “We start at the Numbers. First one to pop out of the gorge wins.” Everyone stared at him in disbelief. Wade finally spoke up. “The Royal Gorge? You expect us to paddle nearly sixty miles in one day?” “Nobody would be alive to talk about it at the end of the day,” Packy Norris said. “Especially when the stream flow's the highest it's been in fifteen years,” Wade reminded them all. “It’s a recipe for disaster.” “Screw that,” Kyle said. He was definitely drunk now. “I was just messing with you all,” Pete laughed. “If any of us did reach the Royal Gorge our arms and legs would be shot,” Ronda said. “Like I said, it would separate the men from the boys,” said Trevor. Aggie, one of the extreme sports girls said, “And the women from the men.” “That'll be the day!” Kyle said.

159 “Kiss my ass, Kyle.” “Here we go again,” Trevor Pryce groused. “Let's get back to it, children.” “Why don't we all just pretend we're Victoria Paley and come out swinging!” Pete joked drunkenly. “Duck, Bones! Duck!” The messhall erupted in contagious laughter. On the porch, Victoria seethed. During her shower, she had decided to buy off everyone on the float trip for his or her promised silence. Ten thousand dollars apiece. But now that half the idiots in Colorado knew about the escapade, she'd just have to live with it while denying it publicly. “Listen to all of those men sitting in there acting like board members, fighting over bragging rights, excluding the women, making their own pedestals out of macho bullshit.” She fumed. But wait. She heard something else in the room. Group talk. Sixty miles of dangerous water in one day. What did Wade say? “A recipe for disaster.” The Royal Gorge - sixty miles in one day - impossible - can't be done. “I got them!” Victoria realized. “I got them all! We'll see what money can't buy!” She rose and burst into the messhall with the grand entrance of a business-minded debutante. “Fifty of the world's best kayakers are here,” Victoria said loudly. “This river run could become an annual event on the Arkansas.” “Like The Burning Man,” Kyle said. “Or even Woodstock!” “The World Series of Water!” Bob Pilse announced. “An Ironman.” “The Come Hell or High Water!” Pete saw the title in neon. “Deliverance,” Wade said softly. “Because in the end, if anyone can make that run in one day and survive that's what it's going to be.”

160 Victoria had them now. They were committing themselves to a bad idea and she had them. “I'll make it interesting.” She smiled with feminine coy. “I'll get some television cameras up here, some helicopters on the river and televise it on one of my cable channels.” “It's fifty nine miles of bad water right now,” Wade repeated. “A thousand dollars a mile. Fifty nine thousand dollars to the winner,” Victoria said, concocting her witch's brew. Denny took the bottle of dark whiskey to his lips, pausing. “We're listening,” he said. She was cheerleading. “Come on, guys. I've been hanging around long enough to see what's going on! Nobody pays attention to your sport anymore. You're a bunch of dinosaurs. You need to wake it up! You guys are old time extreme sports guys. The ancient ones, the wise ones. Warriors. You have to remind the world of that!” Heads nodded. “Not the gorge,” Wade said. Victoria turned on him and glared. “You don't have what it takes. Are you afraid?” Wade sensed the permanent line between them. “No,” he said in a calm assured voice. “I'm not afraid. Most of us aren't. Experience eliminates the fear. But we're not fools. The race is too physically demanding.” “Maybe for a has-been with one testicle and a distant memory of what courage smelled like,” she snapped. “No,” he said dropping his voice. “It's just too much water to run in one day.” “And you're afraid,” she pushed. “A run like that, I sure as hell am,” Dennis said. “You too, Denny? You think it can't be done?” Victoria asked. “Like Wade says. By a fool mebbe.” “Well, hell,” Kyle said. “I guess I'm a fool then.”

161 “A drunken fool,” Wade shook his head. He turned back to Victoria. “Take the offer off the table, Victoria. This can only end badly.” She took center stage at the hearth where a small fire burned. “Let's make it official. Paley Communications has fifty nine thousand dollars that says there is a race on, let's see... it will take a few calls. I'll need a director, producer, helicopters, of course, but... the Saturday after next. If none of you old boys are up for it, that's your decision. When word gets out along the river in the morning, we'll find paddlers.” So she decreed. “No entrance fee?” Kyle said. “An open race. Everyone signs a waiver. You paddle at your own risk.” She was blunt. “Come on. We need heroes in this world boys and girls. And from what I see everybody but Pistol Pete can use the money.” “I'll take your money anyway,” Pete joked. “Fifty nine thousand dollars in fool's gold,” Wade pleaded. “What about you, Malachi?” Ronda asked. “We've all seen what you can do.” “Yeah, boy,” Dennis said. “You're in the prime of your life.” All eyes fell on the kid. By now they all knew he was the best man among them. If anyone had a chance to win this makeshift race, it would be him. “What about it, hotshot?” Victoria pushed. “Do I make some calls?” She looked around the room. “I need a show of hands. Anybody?” One-by-one hands slowly rose in the air much to Wade's dismay. Only he and Malachi were undeclared. “Hotshot?” Victoria challenged Malachi again. “I only go if he goes,” said Malachi, referring to Wade.

162 “What about it, Wade?” Denny asked. “You gonna keep the kid out of the money?” “The kid doesn't need me to enter this race.” “I save you, you save me?” Malachi said as a rhetorical question to Wade. “Hell, you guys. It's not about the river; it's about the money! Just like what was said on the Dolores. Victoria's using us!” Wade said. Hell yes, I'm using you now, you bastards! I tried to be one of you but you took it away. Pointed out my tragic flaws. Well, you have flaws too, and now you're going to pay. Take my race, shoot the gorge and may your sewer gods damn you for it. Malachi turned on his seat and faced Wade. “I save you, you save me,” he repeated. “Your last time chasing the river.” “I don't need this race. I'm already done for,” Wade said. Looks of surprise filled the room. “I decided last night,” Wade told the group. “On the River of Sorrows.” “Liar,” Victoria said. “It's because you can't win.” “Victoria…” Wade took a deep breath and stood. “I'm the best there's ever been. Everyone in this room including you knows that. If anyone could pull this stunt off, it would be me or hotshot here. Everybody else here? You're a bunch of suckers.” The roomful of competitors booed him now. “Put up or shut up, Bones!” “Kiss my ass, Jones!” “Who let you walk on water?” “Wade's right. Nobody can win,” Malachi said. “Nobody. Right, Wade?” “I don't see how,” Wade said. Victoria laughed. “You just want to scare everyone off so you don't go home a loser.” “I'm no loser.”

163 “Then prove it!” others chimed in. “I don't have to prove anything to anybody anymore.” “You don't have to finish, Wade. Just float with us. For old times sake,” Pistol Pete said. “The Three Musketeers for the last time,” said Kyle. Victoria sniveled at Malachi. “And you can be their D'Artagnan.” “We fight the giant snake together,” Pete said. Wade still shook his head but his heart was telling him yes. One last paddle. That was all anyone wanted. One last time together in a contest to be remembered. Strength in numbers. Together against danger. One last chance to feel alive. “You and your snakes,” Victoria argued. “There isn't any magic out there. It’s just water. This is business now. Something most Americans understand. Are you two in or out?” “Fifty nine thousand dollars, Wade,” Denny said with a weary smile. “You can be your own man again.” “For old time's sake,” said Pete. “We'll miss you, buddy,” Kyle said. Wade took a deep breath before making the final decision. He stared at the floor and limply raised his hand. “I'll start your damned race, Victoria. But I don't know if I'm going to finish. I don't know if anyone can.” “Good!” She smiled ferociously. “We have a show! What's it called? THE DELIVERANCE? Delicious! I have calls to make, Mr. Nicholson. We're leaving.” “Where are we going?” Denny asked. “Back to Denver as we agreed.” She raised an eyebrow, sizing up everyone in the room. “See what money can buy? Anybody it wants!” She laughed haughtily and marched out of the messhall with her invisible writ of execution. One by one, the pawns cleared the room.

164 Wade found Dennis in the shuffle. “Why Denny? Why is Victoria's doing this?” “Fifty nine thousand dollars to watch a man die?” Denny quipped, tossing back his gray mane of hair, “Makes for great pay-per-view.” “Why does someone have to die?” Wade asked. “Isn't it obvious? Because you rejected her, Wade. This isn't about any of us. This is about you. She wants revenge. Victoria has been chasing you in her mind all these years and now she has to extinguish you from the earth so she can find the bizarre justification to move on.” Denny patted Wade on the shoulder. “What goes around comes around.” “Think we can talk the others out of it?” Wade said. “No. Too late for that,” Denny scratched his wire whiskers. “She knows greed. She creates a need that leads to greed. We're all done for on this one.” Malachi appeared at Wade's shoulder. “We'll have each other.” Ronda came up. “This Royal Gorge - is it as bad as everyone says?” “It's so bad nobody ever talks about it. Especially one drop.” “What's that?” “The Devil's Thumb. Curse of the kayaks. It presses you down and never lets you go.” Pistol Pete draped his arms around his friends. “Better pray it doesn't rain before the race.” “Mmm,” Kyle said. “I guess we'll have some angry farmers on our hands.” “How's that?” “All of us praying for no rain.” Malachi placed a heavy arm on Wade. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you through this.” Wade smiled, reaching up to put his arm on tall Malachi's shoulder. It was the first time he'd ever physically touched the boy. There was power in the kid's shoulders. Pure power.

165 “Looks like we're all bought and paid for now,” Denny figured. “Come on, Denny. You can't make this run. You're too old.” “Dennis the Menace has to go,” Malachi suddenly said to the others. “Oh? Really?” Wade asked bemused. “Why?” “He wants to return to the womb.” “Mr. Nicholson!” They heard Victoria scream from her SUV. “I'm waiting!”

Later in his cabin, Wade realized the import of what Dennis the Menace said - this was all his doing - he had rejected the woman and she was going to turn his small misdemeanor into a capital offense. But she wasn't just attacking him. She was attacking his way of life, his people, and now she was out for revenge. “What a bitch,” Wade moaned. “What a cruel twisted bitch.” He thought about his Katie - all goodness and light. He could always break his promise to race. “People do it all the time.” Greed. Broken vows. Avarice - Deliver us from evil. Wade was in Victoria's domain now and he didn't like it.

166 HOME PHONE

Katie Jones lifted her Windamere jacket off the ironing board and inspected the shoulders to see if the wrinkles were gone. Satisfied, she dressed for work. Katie wondered how Wade was doing on the float trip. She had another bad dream last night. Something was trying to drown him. She couldn't see what it was. She remembered his message a few days ago. Wade rambled nervously on the answering machine, his anxious voice stopping and starting, thinking of things to say. At first, he was playing cute but towards the end of the message, she sensed just how lonely and empty he must have been feeling. “Hi honey. It's me. Hope you didn't sell the bed yet. Meet any strange men lately? You aren't starting a new black book because I'm gone? Taking all my meds as promised. Eating well. You doing the Dinner-For-One microwave thing? I think my blood count's off again. Mind's not on the river. Heck, maybe I'm finally too old. This kid out here? The hotshot named Malachi? He's pretty impressive. Reminds me of days gone by. Has a real chance of making the Olympic team from what Tom Drucker saw. But if I stick around... Well, you know, the best man should get the seat. You miss the hobo life? (A long pause, as his voice saddened).

167 With me, I guess it's all you know. I love you Kat. Hope to see you soon.” Wade sat on the front porch of the Wild Rivers mess hall watching the sun set beyond the mountains. It wasn't a sensational sun's goodbye, just another fading reminder that life drifts by one day at a time. Victoria was back in her Denver haven by now, power- brokering. Katie should be home, too. His Katie. All that he really had in life. All that he wanted. He pulled out his telephone card, crossed to the pay phone and dialed home. Fifteen long seconds later, he heard the sweet and magical sound of his wife's voice. “This is Katie.” Her fresh voice caught him off-guard. “Kat...” he said softly. “Hello?” “Kat, Katie. It's me. Wade.” He found his voice now. “Wade!” My God! The way she said 'Wade' - so full of joy and sincerity and love. “Katie!” And when he said her name, she felt an enormous lift of pleasure. “Where are you, Wade?” “Still here on the Arkansas.” “And what else, Wade? I can hear it in your voice.” “I have to get off my chest.” The rush of guilt filled him; his eyes tightened to fight back an unexpected tear. “Go ahead, Wade.” He stared up at a spider's web straddling the eaves of the messhall roof. “I was so wrong, Katie. So wrong to have come here, reaching for that dream again. So wrong to let the chaos back in!” His voice wavered. He choked back the emotions that were overwhelming what he needed to say.

168 “I've let go, Katie. Let go of it all now. I just have to finish one last river run, not for me, but for the friends I made over the years. I don't want to compete in the race, but I need to be there for the trouble ahead...” He couldn't talk anymore. “Wade? What race? What's happened?” He found his voice again. “I got here Katie and thought I could jump back in time ten years. But I couldn't. I can’t. And then, out of the blue, this woman... Victoria Paley... Do you remember me mentioning her years ago?” “I saw a few old pictures once. Some brief fling with a rich girl. Anyone who reads TIME or NEWSWEEK knows Victoria Paley. You never said much...” “Because she didn't mean anything to me. Do you believe me?” He listened for her voice. She seemed to be taking a long nasal breath. Finally - “Of course I believe you, Wade.” He looked at the sky and saw Orion. It filled him with hope and peace. “Anyway, she showed up here out of the blue with my old coach Dennis. She tried playing this surreal head game on all of us for a few weeks and then she...” “Let me guess. She tried to seduce you.” “Yes,” he said quietly. “But it didn't work. You rejected her.” “Yes,” he said again. “Because you love me and you love yourself.” “Yes, Katie! Oh God, yes!” Trumpets of joy were sounding in his head. “Then there's nothing to talk about except maybe the details so I can let go of false pictures,” Katie said. “Oh, baby! You'll get it all in play by play when I get back home.” Home. They both felt the meaning of the word at the same time.

169 “When will that be, Wade?” “After the race,” he said. “Fifty nine miles.” “Fifty nine miles of paddling?” she said with disbelief. “From The Numbers through the Royal Gorge. The winner gets a thousand dollars a mile.” Her heart was racing. “Let me guess, Wade. It will be televised. Compliments of Victoria Paley?” “Yeah. I have to be on the river to protect my friends.” “Who protects you?” “You do, Katie. You always have. That's one of the reasons I love you so.” “Oh, Wade,” Katie melted. “The river can use a few guardian angels. When it's over? It's you and me together for the rest of our lives.” “I never doubted that for a minute.” “Neither did I,” he said. Their conversation was interrupted by the beep of an incoming call. “Hang on one second, Wade. I have another call.” She hit the pause button and picked up on the second line. “Katie Jones speaking.” “Mrs. Jones? This is Doctor Blank's office calling. We just received the results from your recent visit. Do you have a minute? The doctor wants to speak to you personally.” “Can he call back?” Katie asked. “I have an important call on the other line.” “Thank you, Mrs. Jones. We'll call back in thirty minutes.” Katie hit the pause button and reconnected to Wade. “Still there?” she asked. “I never left.”

Thirty minutes later, Katie’s obstetrician called again. “Congratulations, Mrs. Jones! It appears you're pregnant!”

170 YOU CAN'T GET THERE FROM HERE

Katie woke from a restless sleep in coach and listened to the voice on the intercom. “This is your captain speaking. Looks like we're going to have to lay the plane down in Albuquerque for a few hours while we wait and see if the weather clears in Denver. Lots of high winds and thunderstorms up there with tornado sightings. As always, your safety does come first. When we land, we ask that all passengers deplane with their carry-ons. As always, we appreciate your business and thanks for flying Southwest.” After the plane safely landed in Albuquerque, Katie pulled her carry-on from the luggage compartment overhead and followed the tired line of passengers to the uncomfortable plastic seats of the terminal. Everyone watched CNN on an overhead TV. Katie overheard a heavyset business executive complain, “This plane isn't going back up any time soon. Not with tornadoes in Denver.” She glanced at her watch. It was three in the morning mountain time. She tried to calculate the best case scenario when she would reach the Arkansas River. “Let's see. If the plane does reload in an hour, we might make Denver by six. Then another hour to check out a rental car before I'm on the road. At least four hours of driving to the river. That puts me in at eleven. The race starts at seven. I might catch Wade at the bridge near Buena Vista on US 24. If I miss him there, I'll drive to Salida and catch him in the narrows when he passes through town.” It was a nice plan but it didn’t work.

171 After an hour, an airline ticket agent announced on the intercom that the plane would be delayed at least another two hours. Katie wheeled her carry-on out of the terminal to the first rental car agency she could find that was open. Hertz, Alamo, National, Avis and Enterprise were all closed but the Budget counter had a sign telling customers they were open twenty-four hours and to take a shuttle to their lot. Outside the terminal, Katie hailed an airport shuttle, tasting the hot breeze of the dark New Mexico desert as she climbed aboard.

It was seven in the morning. The rental car started overheating at the top of Raton Pass just as Katie passed the sign that read, “Welcome to Colorful Colorado.” She coasted down the long neck of mountain highway towards the town of Trinidad a dozen miles away, finding the nearest gas station off the interstate that was open. It only had a convenience store but it would have to do. Just as she popped open the hood latch from inside the car, the radiator hose blew, sending up thin bands of whistling steam from the engine. Katie climbed out from the car and reached for the hood latch. “I don't think you wanna open that just yet,” a male voice said. Katie turned around and saw a heavyset, rather feminine looking man at the door of the convenience store. “Best you come inside where it's air-conditioned 'til it cools off,” the attendant said. “I should call a tow truck,” Katie said. “Nobody's gonna come out just yet on a Saturday,” the attendant said. “Besides, if it's just a hose I can fix it if you don't mind walking down the street to Checker Auto Parts when they open.” “What time is that?” “Checker? They open at nine.” She followed him inside, shifting her feet nervously.

172 “I'm kind of in a hurry,” Katie said. “I was in a hurry once,” the attendant shrugged sadly. “Now look at me. I'm all man and there ain't a damned thing I can say about it.” What a coincidence, Katie realized. It has to be the same attendant Wade mentioned a few weeks ago. “Want a soda pop or maybe a cup of coffee?” Katie realized that she hadn't slept in twenty-fours and didn't see herself getting sleep anytime soon. “I can use a cup of coffee,” she said. “Help yerself over there.” The attendant pointed to a row of coffee machines. “We got all flavors of creams. Cinnamon, mocha, vanilla too.” While Katie dumped creamers into a cup, the attendant kept himself busy rearranging a rack of potato chips, watching her as if waiting for a chance to have a conversation. “You're a pretty woman,” the attendant finally said. “Kids?” Katie smiled at him, rubbing her stomach. “Got my first bun in the oven as we speak,” she smiled. Oh my God! The first person I break the news to and it's a transgender in the middle of nowhere! “Lucky you,” frowned the attendant. “I had kids once. Three of them.” Katie filled her cup with coffee and crossed to the register. The man smiled as he crossed behind the counter and sat on a stool. “Damsels in distress get free joe around here.” “Thank you." “There's a McDonald's open down the block about now if you want to get sumpin' to eat while you kill the time,” the attendant said. “I might just do that,” Katie said. The attendant looked at her curiously. “You look like a pretty decent person,” he said.

173 “I think I am.” “Mind if I show you sumpin'?” “No. Go ahead.” She said it with trepidation. He fished a photograph of a plain-looking woman out of his wallet and laid it in front of her. “What do you think of her?” he asked. Katie picked up the photo and studied it. Then looked at the face of the attendant. “She looks like you. Your sister?” “Closer than that,” the attendant said. “This town of Trinidad? It's the sex change capitol of the world you know. This town is where people that don't fit in come to for a second chance at life. You can't tell that from the highway.” “No. I guess you can't.” Katie studied the picture, then the man in front of her again with the new haircut and diminished breasts. He didn't look all that different from when he was a woman. “The woman in that picture? Lost her family over her second chance. Lost her whole identity in less than a year.” “Where's the new identity?” Katie asked. “What do you mean?” “I'm guessing the person in this picture died and probably for a good reason. But her spirit lived on, I can see that.” “What makes you so sure?” the attendant asked. “Something about her eyes. The same thing I see in your eyes.” The attendant leaned against the counter towards her. “Tell me more.” Katie studied him intensely now. “I see hope. I see a love of people no matter who or what they are. I see a person willing to forgive and forget. I see a person who still has love to give and still needs love. We all need love. Don't you agree?” “And how,” the clerk said. She handed the picture back to him. He looked at it with fondness before putting it back in his wallet.

174 “She was me once,” he said. “And now you're on your second chance.” “That's what I'm hoping.” He rapped his knuckles on the counter. “Dang. Look at us. Having a real conversation like two ordinary people! Where you headed anyway?” “The Arkansas River. My husband is racing in a marathon today.” She looked at her watch. “In fact it's probably about to start.” “Must be this whitewater thing I glanced at.” The attendant pulled himself off his stool, reached over the counter and snatched up a Denver Post. He opened the newspaper to the sports page, slapping his hand on a captioned picture of Wade Jones. “Now why couldn't I look like him? He came through here a few weeks back. Helluva nice guy.” He shared the page with Katie and she started to laugh in disbelief. “Oh my God! That's my husband!” They shared the paper together. “Wade Jones?” he asked. “Yes. Wow! Front page of the sports section!” The attendant read the article aloud. “’Former world champion whitewater kayaker Wade Jones will attempt to make a splash today in what may be his final race - the grueling fifty-nine mile COME HELL AND HIGH WATER, what most experts see as the ultimate whitewater challenge!’” He looked at Katie. “Fifty-nine miles! Who the heck can paddle that far in a day?” “My husband can,” she said. “And you can bet good money I'll be there when he finishes.” “Well, heck! We better get that hose replaced and get you on down the road then!” The attendant picked up the telephone and called the manager of the auto parts store at his home.

175 “Chuck? It's Bob. I got an auto emergency. Any chance you can get in early and run me over a radiator hose?” Bob looked out the window. “Lady's driving a new Sonata. Six cylinder. Sure appreciate it, Chuck. Owe you one.” He hung up the telephone and winked at Katie. “Hose is on its way.” “Thank you, Bob.” “How'd you know my name?” he asked. “I just heard you tell Chuck.” “That's right! I guess I did! And you know what? I like being a man named Bob! About your car? Some folks in a hurry try duct tape but that's just a short-term fix.” He grabbed a toolbox. “Ain't no way I'm sending a pregnant woman down a lonely stretch of highway like that! What's yer name, by the way?” “Katie Jones,” she said. He held the door open for her. “Pleasure to meet you,” he smiled. “My first name's Bob, as you know. Full name is Bob Leinenkugel.” While Bob Leinenkugel removed the radiator hose, Katie told him all about her and Wade. “Sounds like you two were meant to be,” Bob said. Chuck arrived with a hose and helped Bob install it. Bob grabbed a gallon of antifreeze from the convenience store and refilled the radiator. After Chuck left to open his parts store, Bob filled Katie's tank with gas and cleaned the windows. She bought three bottles of water and snacks. After she paid him, Bob escorted her back to her car. “It's back on the highway for you, young lady,” he said. “And good luck for what lies ahead.” He kicked at a candy wrapper blowing by. “I am what I am. Right?” “Right.” She put her rental car in gear. “It's time to find my husband,” Katie said.

176 “Look for him at the finish line!” Bob said as he waved goodbye.

177 AND THEY'RE OFF

It was finally clear skies - a bad omen for the race, believed Wade. Extreme high temperatures from the past week were already causing the three feet of snow that the mountains received in early April to melt. A twenty-four hour rainstorm had just descended on the central Colorado mountains, dumping two new inches of water, causing flash floods in small streams that swelled some rivers, affecting daily stream flow conditions in the central valleys and plains. The mean average discharge of water, measured as CFS or cubic feet per second for the past hour, was at an annual high of seven thousand for the year. The real time data was recorded at fifteen-minute intervals at the United States Geological Survey stream gauging station in Buena Vista. The name of the wild water marathon had been changed from THE DELIVERANCE to COME HELL AND HIGH WATER. It evoked more action and doom when Paley Communications test-marketed the name on the Wednesday before race day. The fifty-nine thousand-dollar purse would be the biggest payoff in the history of kayak racing. That is, if anyone made it that far. The Arkansas River would be extremely fast and cold today at a temperature of forty-five degrees. This had its advantages and disadvantages. The advantage was less time on the river for the contestants because of the speed of the river. The disadvantage was what the river looked like - an obstacle course of fallen debris, unseen rocks and eddies to crash around in like a demolition derby.

178 Wade, Pete, Kyle, and Malachi stood on the hill south of Pine Creek looking at the first leg of the race - The Numbers. The sound of the water below was already the loudest it had been all year and the flow rate was visibly faster. “High energy Class 4, 5, and 6 the whole way,” Pete said with disappointment. “Good news is we'll lose half the competition right here at the very start,” Kyle said. “Bad news is they'll be climbing up our backs,” Pete said. “What's your strategy, Wade?” Wade wore a full-length sleeveless black wet suit called a Farmer John. He stared at the river with a furrowed brow. “Think I'll hang back and let the idiots knock themselves out first.” “You mean be the last ones in the water?” “Just look at it. It's the toughest section of the river until we punch out at the Royal Gorge. Steep, technical, boulder- choked. No room for error, you can't stop paddling and if you swamp you got a long dangerous swim into two hundred other paddlers. Look at those drops.” He pointed at several spots along the Numbers. “Those thousand foot walls are channeling the river. It's a crash site for dummies.” Dennis the Menace joined the others. “I heard the river authorities canceled all rafts and tubes on the river today because of the high runoff.” “Less dead bodies, you ask me. Besides we kayaks don't fall under the same restrictions. Victoria Paley will get her race and she has the perfect conditions for an ugly one,” Wade said. They hiked over to the staging area. Dozens of men and women wearing yellow Paley Communications hats and jackets were serving up a cowboy breakfast of flapjacks, bacon and hot coffee to hundreds of competitors and spectators while TV cameras rolled. Several newscasters from around the state of Colorado were hurrying to interview the athletes before the race.

179 “How come nobody's bothered to interview you yet?” Pistol Pete asked Wade. “Because Bones Jones is ancient history.” Kyle laughed, poking Wade in the ribs. “That true, Wade?” Pete asked, digging the joke in a little deeper. “Hell boys, they'll find the lost city of Atlantis before they remember me,” Wade laughed. “But what about the TV time, the sponsors?” Pete asked. “To hell with all that. I'm just here to keep my promise to you guys,” Wade said. Up the hill, video production crews were mounting High Definition video cameras on a pair of Bell 47 helicopters. Three Ultralight gliders already mounted with cameras were returning for fuel. They'd been buzzing the skies overhead for the past two hours, skimming the empty river for stock footage needed in the broadcast. A sixty-foot long mobile video truck with satellite dishes on the roof was parked ominously at one end of the staging area. Painted a bright yellow, it was Command Central for the live show to run on Paley's male-oriented MEN cable channel. The show would also be taped and condensed for future broadcasts and Internet uploads. Inside, the portable truck was loaded with state of the art video accessories that had all the audio, graphics and special effects bells and whistles at its switcher board including Grass Valley, Max Chyron, Pinnacle, Telos and Frame Shakers. The motherboard was wired to receive signals from ten remote Sony cameras. Five handheld camera operators would be following the action on the ground. Busy bodies in yellow hats hummed in and out of Command Central, all having a specific function for the moment. “We'll need another four cases of video stock flown in from Denver!” an operator warned. “And batteries! We'll have at least five changes! Where are the chargers anyway?

180 Lenses! Who is in charge of the lenses? Got a lot of sun mixed with cloud cover today! Can't those Ultralights be any quieter? They'll kill my sound! Who is in charge of the waivers? A ranger wants to see our insurance. How do we get hard copy out to the site where our on-air talent is? What's for lunch? What time do we lose our light?” On an on and on they dribbled, seeming unprepared and understaffed without a head to lead them. Victoria Paley sat inside the giant truck in a chair set aside just for her as the Executive Producer of the event. (It even had her name on it.) She was dressed from head to toe in a khaki green pantsuit and wore a silly Australian bush hat with the left side creased in. From her seat, Victoria had a view of all the camera monitors. She sat with Jimmy Gregor, the show's Line Producer and Director while he went over the rough copy for the show with its hosts - a pair of sportscasters yanked from the Denver affiliate, KWAA. They had spent a week going through hundreds of pages of background material on the sport of kayaking, terms used on the river, the local landscape and biographical information on some of the better known athletes, mostly former Olympians and National champions. The Director checked his watch and talked to the on-air talent. “Okay, people. We're on. You'll be doing most of the show as a remote from the overlook near Turkey Creek. After we wrap the opening hour here we'll drive to your location, then from there, we take the mobile unit to the finish line.” “If anyone lives to make it,” the male host joked. “What do you mean by that wisecrack?” the Director asked. “Did you see that river? It looks like a blender.” Victoria laughed. “It's not exactly a smart person sport.” “I'll say,” said the female sportscaster.

181 “Wear plenty of sunscreen today. It's going to be a long one,” the Director said. Outside, Wade picked up a rock and threw it at the truck disdainfully, hoping it would break a window and kill the Paley witch inside but the rock just bounced off the van's steel body. Two hundred and eight men and only four women signed liability insurance waivers for the race, clearing Paley Communications of any wrongdoing for the event. For the kayakers, water and air temperature would be a major factor. With the previous night's rain, the river would be murky and brown and no one knew what to expect from the flooded tributaries entering the river downstream. It was supposed to be clear today, in the mid-nineties. Heat exhaustion would play a part, too. Some contestants wore wet suits, others dry suits. Everyone had a mandatory helmet, booties, neoprene gloves, and paddle jackets doubling as personal floating devices. The kayakers stood in small groups checking each other's equipment and making alliances for safety line buddies if they got stuck or dumped. Heartbeats were accelerating. Nerves were on edge. Ronda and a handful of less brave paddling buddies stopped by to wish her fellow river rats luck. Wade circled up with Pete, Kyle, Malachi and Denny. When a camera shooter came by for an interview, Wade and his friends told him to find another sucker. “Let's play smart today,” Wade warned his friends. “It's a long run and none of us really expects to make it.” “Then you best be following my tail to the finish,” said Denny. “Come on, Dennis! You're older than Santa Claus!” Pete said. “Don't even think about going all the way!” “You run your race and I'll run mine,” Dennis bitched. “Beside I ain't one of your four mouseketeers anyway.” The others tried to ignore his complaints.

182 “Equipment check - carabiners?” Wade asked. “Everybody should have two. Keep them on your life jackets on the cinch straps, not the shoulder straps!” He looked at Malachi. “Otherwise, you might break your collarbone when you hit a rock.” “How you know that, Bones?” Dennis laughed. “Because that's how I broke mine five years ago.” Wade smiled ruefully. Wade glanced over at one of the television crews checking their own equipment at a helicopter. “You fellas don't suppose they put any water rescue in the budget?” “No. I checked,” said Dennis. “We're on our own.” “Figures.” Wade spit. “Okay, then. Throw ropes - always carry one and be sure to take it with you whenever you scout a drop. Hypothermia - pay attention to your body, especially after a swim or soaking. Don’t cloud your judgment. If you're shivering, get the hell out of the river and dry off in the sun with a good candy bar until you feel stable.” “Tell us something we don't already know,” Dennis said. “This lecture is for the kid,” Wade said. “You know any of this stuff, Malachi?” Dennis asked. “It makes good sense.” “If anyone's interested, there's a barrel of free power bars and water over by that camper from one of the sponsors,” Pete said. “Let's not push the river,” Wade continued. “We have a long ass day. To minimize heat loss, keep your gloves on and make sure you have a pile liner under your helmet to keep the sweat in.” “And don't dehydrate!” Kyle said. “I can't tell you how many times I have to paddle to shore because I get punched out.” An Assistant Director carrying a megaphone came out of the television truck.

183 “Helicopters, start your engines! Ultralights take to the air! Kayakers, gear up! It's show time in ten!” and then he disappeared back in the trailer. Wade and his crew finished a final check of their paddles and kayaks. “Mind if we circle up for a prayer?” Malachi asked. “You're not serious?” Dennis said. “I'm serious,” said the boy. All the men but Dennis took to a knee and reached in to touch Malachi's extended hand. “We pray to Saint Christopher, the Christbearer, that he carry us safely down this raging stream as he did the baby Jesus and that he teach us to be true Christbearers to those who do not know him. And Lord?” he added, “Give us the power to accept the things we cannot change on this terrible day.” He looked directly at Wade, then at Dennis with troubled eyes. “Amen.” “Amen,” the others said loudly over the noise of helicopters lifting off. The Assistant Director returned to the center of the field with a starting pistol in one hand, barking into his megaphone. “The race starts here at the trailhead and ends when we have a last man standing or when we have a winner at the finish line. Let's remember to smile for the cameras and wave to the spectators come hell or high water - no pun intended. Any questions?” “When do I get my check?” Dennis yelled. The Assistant Director laughed as he raised the pistol. “I like your enthusiasm, old-timer!” Inside the trailer, one of the camera views fell on Wade Jones. “He's the story for the day,” Victoria told the Director. “I want a camera on him at all times.”

184 “You're the boss,” he said as he slipped on a headset and passed along the instructions. They listened to the sound of the starting gun going off outside and turned to the monitors, watching excited screaming fans cheering on the kayak-carrying athletes as they fought and pushed for a space on the narrow downhill trail towards the river. “And so the Pied Piper leads her rats to the sea,” Victoria said under her breath. The Director looked up at the medium shot of Wade and his friends sitting on their kayaks and doing nothing. “How long do you want me to keep this shot on paint drying?” he asked. “Wade Jones will make his move, you just wait and see.” “Are these the friends that gave you the inspiration for this race?” “Yep. My good buddies,” Victoria said deadpan. “Cut to three,” the Director barked to the man that operated the Video Switcher. Now they watched as bodies and kayaks fell down the hill in the mad dash for the water. “The smell of money does crazy things to people,” the Director said. He lit up the first of today's many cigars. “Too early for champagne, Miss Paley?” “It's never too early for champagne, Jimmy.” “Somebody bring us some champagne. Has our on-air talent arrived at the river set yet?” “Ready in ten.” “Make it five or I fire somebody!” Victoria smiled at his ruthlessness.

Katie Jones cruised north at seventy-five miles an hour. She drove with one hand on the wheel and one leg tucked under her bottom to keep her awake. She sang along with the radio blasting: “BORN TO BE WILD!” she screamed with the singer.

185 “Okay, everybody,” shouted Jimmy Gregor. “It's show time for the talent. We're alive in five and four, three, two, one, cue talent!” The bright cheery faces of Denver sportscasters John Huber and Chelsea Dash lit up the monitors inside master control. Both had on too much makeup and by the end of the day they would look like wax figures from a cheap museum. The water was extremely loud, so the hosts had to shout their lines, giving the broadcast a sense of emergency and panic. They sat in high captain's chairs on the photo-op deck that jutted above the Arkansas River. It was usually occupied by a handful of photographers hired by the rafting companies to snap photos of thrill-seeking rafters hitting the rapids below. But today, the deck belonged to Paley Communications. “Welcome to Colorado and the Arkansas River! One of the nation's premier recreation areas!” John Huber said with a little too much enthusiasm. “Just look at those towering peaks around us, John!” Chelsea Dash said. “Rocky Mountain High, Chelsea!” “And to you, John!” “I'm John Huber with my co-host Chelsea Dash and today we bring you the first ever COME HELL AND HIGH WATER!” John yelled for the camera. “The prize? A cool fifty-nine thousand dollars!” Chelsea said. “As far as I know, John, it's the biggest purse in all of kayaking!” “That's right, Chelsea. And boy, do we have the muscles down below trying to win it! It's a who’s who of the wildwater world on the river today. Names from the past and present! Wade Jones, Trevor Pryce, John Norris!” “Wade Jones! He has three U.S. Nationals, two World Cups, two Pan Am games, two Olympic qualifiers, and a World championship. But no Olympic gold, John. Think this race makes up for it?”

186 “I think this race will become the premiere event in all of kayaking! Whoever wins today will find his face on a lot of cereal boxes, Chelsea.” “Among other endorsements, John.” “This extreme sport's recognition is long overdue, Chelsea!” “And some of its heroes. Let's not forget Dennis Nicholson, who entered today. A former Olympian and coach himself, he's nearly sixty!” “Looking to supplement his Social Security, Chelsea?” “Got to be an easier way, John! Did you know he taught Wade Jones?” “THE COME HELL AND HIGH WATER is fifty-nine miles of boat-breaking, thrilling, white water,” Huber said. “And in the end, it will be the determination of one man or woman that decides who really is the BEST OF THE BEST in the world!” said Chelsea. “The last man or woman standing. That's what today is all about - to see the world's greatest, most endurable kayaker delivered intact from what looks like a real river of evil today,” said Chelsea. “This premiere whitewater event is like no other!” John Huber said as a wrap. “Cut to graphics,” Jimmy Gregor ordered in central control. “And who the hell wrote “River of Evil?' Overkill!” A high-tech graphic chart of the Arkansas River lit up the screen, as the voice talent explained the course. “The race starts here at The Numbers, down the long stretch of Brown's Canyon, through Bighorn Sheep Canyon and then the final fifteen miles of splendor and whitewater of The Royal Gorge! Once you reach that canyon, there's no turning back!” “There's plenty of snowpack up in these Colorado Mountains and this year may reach a high water mark!” “Cut back to talent,” Jimmy ordered. The monitors lit up on the hosts.

187 “What about it, Chelsea? Think you're up for it?” “No way, John! The COME HELL AND HIGH WATER is fifty-nine miles of backbreaking, bone crushing fast water!” (She left out the part that she'd never been kayaking in her life.) “How about you? You up for it?” “Not today, Chelsea!” Huber smiled for the cameras, (knowing full well that he couldn't even swim.) “By the end of the day, we expect this river will be littered with the crushed memories of less fortunate kayakers! Mind-numbing rapids with names like Sunshine, Sledgehammer, Boat Eater, Wall Slammer, and Devils Thumb await these competitors! We're your hosts John Huber and Chelsea Dash and we'll be here live all day, at the top of the hour and when news breaks throughout the day to bring you this exciting event!” Chelsea picked up the beat. “Some viewers ask, ‘What is wildwater racing?’ Wildwater is a discipline combining the excitement of whitewater slalom with the strategy of an aerobic distance event. They usually run on a three to five mile stretch of Class III to IV whitewater, but today it's fifty- nine miles long and in some parts of the river, these rapids and waterfalls are maybe the fastest in the world!” “Class VI!” “Class VI, John! Death-defying! So what is the strategy these racers use?” “Cut to the graphic!” urged the Director. John talked over the visual cartoon graphic of a paddler. “The racers will try to find the fastest series of lines through the rapids; no easy feat over the entire course. This is not the same river it was yesterday. Theoretically, there is an eighteen-inch wide ribbon of whitewater that is faster than any other part of the river. The job of today's racers is to find that ribbon, stay on it, and scoot the boat faster than the flow of the river.” “Cut back to talent!” Gregor barked. “Grueling on the mind, eyes and most of all, bodies of today's competitors, John!”

188 “Why is this race called COME HELL AND HIGH WATER? Because it's never been done! It's not so much a question of who will cross the finish line, but who can go the farthest,” John smiled. “It's a thousand dollars a mile to the winner,” Chelsea reminded the audience. “And no one expects to go all the way in this, the toughest of all extreme sports!” John said. “And remember to go online to PALEYTV.COM or dial your cell phone at 1-800-THE GORGE for the latest standings!” Chelsea added. “You'll want to keep it on speed dial, Chelsea, where you can check in on all the latest action.” Chelsea looked at the list of names on her notes. “Like we said earlier, some real American heroes here today including Olympians Trevor Pryce and John Norris!” “And as we already mentioned, let's not forget former World Champion and two time bust at the Olympics, Mr. Wade Jones! How do you see the race shaping up today?” “Gee, John. There are so many great competitors out here, but with these new stream conditions, its anybody's flag at the finish. The old pros like Pryce and Jones know how to pace themselves for the average three to five mile whitewater race, but fifty-nine miles? Who knows what to expect?” “So all bets are off?” “They are in my book, John. Absolutely.” “Now the stream flow conditions, Chelsea - they have to be a huge factor in today's event.” “They are THE FACTOR. The Arkansas River is pushing lots of water through lots of pipes now, and it will be that way all day. You have to realize that the further the racers get down the river, the more dangerous it's going to be because we expect to see the CFS continue to rise throughout the day.” “CFS?”

189 “Cubic feet per second. Did you know it only takes two feet of water to move an automobile? Gravity is still pulling water down from these mountains and dumping them on these racers, so as the day wears on, the river could become extremely dangerous.” “But not life threatening?” “That's not my call, John. These guys and gals got in the river on their own, so it's definitely buyer beware.” “Cut to some car wrecks!” Jimmy Gregor shouted in the booth. Already, there were mishaps on the river. Visuals flashed of boats crashing into rocks, of kayakers knocked out of their boats and swimming, of kayakers trapped in holes of water, of one unlucky bastard flipping through the air and crashing upside down. “Well, there you have it, folks,” said Huber. “Right here on MEN. Today, the most dangerous river in America and perhaps the most dangerous race in the world, coming at you all day here on the hour and when news breaks until we have our last man or woman standing in the classic COME HELL AND HIGH WATER!” “Only on MEN TV!” Chelsea tagged. “And cut to our regular programming!” Jimmy Gregor shouted. He turned to Victoria. “What do you think?” “Talent's cheesy but it plays.” She sipped her champagne. “Great concept - heroism on the wild river. Want to push that angle?” “A river is nothing but a sewer flushing garbage to the ocean,” Victoria said. A few of the booth technicians gave her a curious look.

Wade paddled his kayak on the slower moving flat water between the first two rapids known as The Numbers. He was in the comfortable position most people would call last place. The rapid at Number One was already a hairy ride for ten kayakers paddling above their abilities. Some pulled to

190 shore and quit, while others cradled their munched boats, all having claimed lifelong bragging rights to the undeniable fact that they competed in the first ever COME HELL AND HIGH WATER marathon. As for Wade - he finessed his kayak downstream. Railroad tracks on a trestle followed the Upper Arkansas here, crisscrossing the river where bedrock could be found to hold the tracks. A train pulling fifty cars of cattle chugged by, bound for the eastern plains. As Wade reached Scott's Bridge, he rendezvoused with Pete, Kyle and Malachi and everybody “mooed” the passing cows. The water was so loud they could barely hear the helicopter overhead, videotaping them. “That was a gnarly first run,” Kyle said. “Water's kicking serious ass,” said Pete. They looked downstream. Dennis was paddling furiously through the flat water, burning energy. “Man, he'll be lucky to make it to lunch the way he's going,” Pete shook his head. “Remember, we got some stoppers ahead,” Wade said. “Current's higher so we have some boulders taking on a whole new look behind them. Who wants to take the lead?” “I’ll take it,” volunteered Kyle. “Give each other room to maneuver and stay on the ribbon,” Wade reminded everyone. They took another look downstream just as Dennis the Menace disappeared over a waterfall. At the next rapid, Wade was going to run left, slide off a pillow and boof a rock, but the current slowed above the drop and he was forced to run right through the slot, landing in a strong brace before he pulled out with hard strokes. During the next few miles of rapids and water, the men hit haystacks and pools, using pillows and peelouts to avoid the submerged rocks called pourovers as they crossed dangerous eddy lines at sharp angles. All were pushing Class IV water now.

191 Competitors ahead of them were dropping out like flies to the banks of the river. Kayakers were hanging up everywhere. Wade barely missed getting tangled above three holes where frantic paddlers were stuck, shouting orders to onshore buddies with ropes. Ultralights kept whizzing along the banks overhead in both directions like giant dragonflies, too low for Wade's comfort. He kept his eyes out for Dennis the Menace but the old man was nowhere to be seen on the river or on the banks. After Number Five, Wade looked west to the collegiate peaks of Mt. Columbia and Harvard. He remembered that they were named after the alma maters of explorers and surveyors - men that made a real difference in the history of America. Men who chased something they could catch. The rapids at Six and Seven were clogged with slow river runners. Wade pulled off the river and waited until he could find his line in the water. Malachi, Pete, and Kyle pulled off the river to wait with him. “Any sign of Dennis up ahead?” Wade asked. “Crazy sonofabitch thinks he can outrun us,” disappointed Kyle said. “Thinks he's gonna take the day.” Up ahead, at the end of The Numbers, Wade saw a small crowd gathered on a railroad bridge where they were being cheered on by a camera crew to yell and scream for a kayaker chasing his lost gear downstream. The kayakers were entering the Brown's Canyon portion of the race, a nineteen-mile stretch. Wade saw the town of Buena Vista to his right and looked further down the river, where it swam under the Highway 24 overpass. Hundreds of spectators had gathered there, sitting on blankets or in folding chairs along the banks, their cars and trucks and campers parked in nearby Johnson Village where they could stock up on beer and fast food for the day. “Look at them down there. It’s a regular circus,” Wade said.

192 He studied his section of river and decided his route through the last set of rapids. And then he thought about the crowd again. About how Katie used to find her way to the bank and shout encouragement as he paddled by. She'd do that all day on a river, moving downstream in her car, waving hello or blowing a kiss as he passed by. Wade looked at his friends. Pete and Kyle already looked tired. He knew they would never make it to the Royal Gorge - nobody would, except Malachi maybe. And if or when they got that far, would he tell the kid to go on ahead without him? He made the boy a promise, “you save me, I save you.” Would he break his word then? The kid looked like a river god in his boat. His back was straight and his arms mighty. Wade paddled up to him on a flat stretch. “Don't you ever sweat?” he shouted over the hum of a circling Ultralight above. Malachi shouted back an answer but Wade couldn't hear. Then the kid shouted again. “What's ahead?” “We'll be coming up on The Narrows. Look for Frog Rock before Four-Mile Creek spills in from the east. It should be a tricky run! Lots of garbage.” “How are you holding up?” Malachi asked. “Taking it one mile at a time. You?” “The same, Wade. I'm worried about Dennis,” Malachi said. “You think he's crazy enough to shoot the gorge?” “I wouldn't put it past him,” Wade said. “That's too bad,” said the kid. “Underneath that leather face? He was a decent man.” Was? Why the past tense when he spoke of Dennis the Menace? They passed under Highway 24. Hundreds of spectators stood from their folding chairs and blankets and cheered. Some kid tossed Wade a Hostess Twinkie as he drifted under

193 the bridge but Wade missed it. A Twinkie would have tasted real good right about now. Sugar. He still had fifty miles to go in the cold water and already half the competitors including all the women had dropped out. Yet of those who remained, nobody had broken out ahead of the pack as a clear front-runner. The kayaks looked like a small fleet traveling together now, saving energy for the big push later. Here in Brown's Canyon, then on to Bighorn where the real play began and for anyone who dared - The Royal Gorge - and in the gorge - THE DEVILS THUMB. But Wade didn't think of the gorge just yet. He was approaching Brown's Canyon. Eighteen miles of what should be Class III and IV rapids. Today they would all be running V's and maybe even VI's with ominous names like The Devil's Punch Bowl, Pinball and Widow Maker – tons of crushing wildwater and plenty of time to make a mistake. Wade pictured the stretch of river ahead. Conditions would be a lot worse than when he ran parts of the river in practice earlier in the week before the rain came. The course would be unrecognizable today. Lots of technical moves in fast, choppy water. Most of the kayakers would drop out in Browns Canyon - victims of heat, cramps, exhaustion, fear and spent minds. The river turned southeast.

After refueling again, Katie turned west on Highway 50. It was less than two hours to the river now. She looked at her watch. “With any luck, I'll find Wade by noon.” She spotted a grocery store, pulled in, and bought a day's supply of sandwiches, candy bars, chips, water, ice, a folding chair and throwaway Styrofoam cooler. She couldn't wait to

194 see Wade in the river again. Couldn't wait to stand knee deep in the water and kiss her dream man after all these days. “I'll be there, Wade. Just like old times.”

195 THROUGH BROWN'S CANYON

“Welcome back to the COME HELL AND HIGH WATER and what a day we've seen already! We're your hosts John Huber and Chelsea Dash coming at you live from our river overlook!” John smiled into the camera as he glimpsed himself in one of the monitors. “It's nothing but spills, chills and thrills today,” Chelsea said. “Already the competition has whittled down with only forty paddlers left after Browns Canyon, a boulder-filled chasm. The rapids here are of the pool-drop variety which means each rapid is followed by a pool where the paddlers have a chance to get their breath back before they plunge over the next waterfall.” “Still in last place is world kayaking legend Wade Jones!” “He's just pulling out of Browns Canyon now!” “I'm sure he'd rather be in last place than out of the money altogether. And right now, the money in the kitty on this race is up to twenty seven thousand dollars!” “A thousand dollars a mile, John - and they're almost halfway there - and if anyone can make it to the finish line, that's a grand total of fifty nine thousand dollars!” “But it comes with a price, Chelsea! Let's look at some of these guys work their way through the last set!” They spoke over highlight footage shot earlier. “Truly remarkable, John!” “You might say some of them are lucky to be alive!” “No friendly rapids today!” “And in some sections this river is only twelve feet wide!” The Director cued up visuals on several Browns Canyon runs as the hosts continued their voice-overs.

196 “Let's look at some stalls first,” John said. A visual of Pistol Pete came up. “Here's Pistol Pete Hagan, a guy with dozens of trophies under his belt. He knows this river probably better than anybody does! He's moving at about fifteen to twenty miles an hour here,” said Huber. “And remember that water weighs 62.4 pounds per cubic foot, John. That affects buoyancy and when you stall in the water the water's momentum is transferred to the boat!” Back in the trailer, Victoria had just topped off her glass with more champagne. “What's she babbling about now? I want to see action!” Now the camera showed Pete on the brink of disaster. His kayak was stuck on a rock outcropping, about to plummet into a waterfall. Wade, Kyle, and Malachi were shown standing by on shore ready to toss throw lines. “Which rapid was this? Pinball or maybe Siedel's Suck Hole?” “I think he's hung up on Staircase here, Chelsea!” “Then it's the top stair, John.” Now the camera showed Pete falling and spilling upside down, his half-submerged kayak shooting over several more bumpy stairs. “He's shooting downstream just like his nickname 'PISTOL' John!” “Even upside down in the water, can you see how Hagan's paddle is moving, Chelsea?” “Yes. What do you think he's trying to do?” “An Eskimo Roll - a basic self-rescue technique for kayakers. See how he is trying to use his paddle and body to right the boat out of the haystack in this narrow sluice?” “He's been under a long time!” Onscreen, Pete suddenly righted, his face a piece of bloody red meat. “Oh My!” Chelsea Dash said, holding back a sudden urge to puke.

197 “It looks like Hagan is calling it a day,” Huber said as Wade snagged Pete's boat in a short piece of flatwater and pulled him to the riverbank. The camera went to a close-up showing Kyle and Malachi pulling Pete out of his sprayskirt. Pete collapsed on the ground in a heap. “Looks like he'll need medical attention.” John Huber said. Back in Command Central, everyone broke into gales of laughter as Chelsea fell out of her chair and started puking off-camera. “Go to a one shot on Huber until Chelsea is done barfing,” the Director ordered. On the riverbank, Wade bent over Pete, his hands jostling his face. “You still with us?” Pete finally stared up at him through bleeding eyelids. “I am, but my teeth aren't.” He gave Wade a toothless monkey smile. “I was going to buy new ones anyway.” Ronda scooted down the hill. “I have him,” she told Wade, Kyle, and Malachi. “You go on ahead.” “Pete?” Wade asked. “You finished?” “Yeah. You guys keep going. You got a few miles to catch crazy Dennis up ahead at Bighorn. Get him off the water before this river kills him!” “I want a close-up on that Wade guy!” the Director ordered his Switcher. Television cameras showed a close-up of Wade rinsing his bloody hands in the river. “That's Wade Jones, a whitewater legend,” Huber said. “Wiping off the blood of a fallen comrade. But this wasn't the only bad spill as we....”

Dozens of cars were parked at Widow’s Peek, a country bar that sat overlooking the river just off the narrow two-lane highway. There was a big screen television here. Katie hoped she would find Wade's location on the river.

198 “Any racers make it this far yet?” she asked. “Nope,” said the busy bartender. “Get you anything?” “Just an ice water,” Katie smiled. She took her water and joined dozens of others out on the deck of the bar. Some had cameras, others carried binoculars. Katie looked down at the river. “Any ETA on our first paddlers?” she asked a longhaired guy smoking a cigar. “Maybe an hour,” he said. “They have a pinpoint map of who's left in the race on the big screen.” “Where's the closest access to the river near here?” she asked. “West. About a mile down the road at Big Easy Bend.” “Thanks.” “De nada.” She returned to the bar and watched detailed events on television as they unfolded. Wade had been in Last Place all day. “He could have gained on a dozen paddlers by now,” John Huber was saying on the television. “Why do you think he's holding back, Chelsea?” “I don't know, John. He's been riding the river pretty good so far but when he hits the flatwater where he can pull ahead, he lets the river carry him instead of gaining in the race.” “Saving his strength?” “Maybe not a bad plan, John. This race is far from over.” “And how about those cheers for Wade Jones as he paddled through the River Run in downtown Salida?” “It was a real hero's welcome for him, John.” “Who says kayaking is a sport full of unrecognizable faces?”

Wade had a smooth mile ahead for a change. Time to catch his strength, take his medicine, drink some water, and rifle down a couple of Power Bars. The river was kicking his

199 ass now and Wade could feel every aching muscle in his body. Malachi and Kyle were fifty yards up ahead. He took deep breaths to stabilize his racing heart, taking in the scenery to calm his nerves. He recognized a Great Horned Owl by its horn-like feather tufts, circling above. To some Native American tribes, the owl was a carrier sent to fly the souls of the dead to the spirit world. Wade didn't like the fact that it seemed to be following him. But then, Wade remembered what he'd been telling himself lately - I don't want to be alive anymore. And yet today he was very much alive. He was in the last race of his life, about to return to Katie and a normal life that was tangibly his. I very much want to be alive and I will be alive tomorrow and the next day and ten years after that, he told the owl. The owl caught a draft of wind and sailed away. Wade had an eerie feeling when he saw it turn and flap its wings downstream. His friends were downstream. The owl had found a new prize for the spirit world. A blue-winged Peregrine falcon swept into view next and rested on a chalk cliff overhang, probably looking for a fish or rodent. There were other raptors in the sky today; red- tailed hawks and turkey vultures. A few Kingfishers and Great Blue Herons sat in the cottonwoods along the banks looking for an easy meal. A skittish Bighorn Sheep trotted down close to the river but turned away and ran up the steep mountain when Wade’s kayak approached. The next set of rapids was the long run Wade had performed poorly on his first day. He remembered Malachi suggesting they use walkie-talkies to stay in touch here. Back then the river ran half the strength of today's water. He paddled past several more kayakers dropping out of the race, all from exhaustion. The last one was Trevor Pryce, laid flat on his back on a boulder. Wade pulled up to him. “You working on your tan, Trevor?”

200 “I'm packing it in, Wade. My legs went out around Stone Bridge and now I can't feel my ass. This race was a real mother. Had some good runs, though. How about you? How much more can you take?” Wade looked ahead at Malachi and Kyle and remembered his promise. “I got a few miles left in me.” “You're not thinking of entering the gorge are you?” “Haven't thought that far ahead.” “'Cuz once you enter it there's no turning back,” Trevor reminded him, looking up at the sky as the sun hid behind a cloud. “Good luck down there. Say hello to that Double Dip for me. She owes me a paddle from last year.” “Will do,” said Wade. He dipped the blade of his own paddle in the water and shoved off. “You didn't see Dennis?” “Only his backside all day. As far as I know he’s still ahead of you.” Wade dug in with deep strokes, catching up to Kyle and Malachi. “We got Maytag, Lose Your Lunch, and Sharks Tooth ahead. How are you guys doing?” Kyle sipped down half a bottle of water. “Think I'm getting heat exhaustion. Better watch me at that Maytag, Wade. Don’t know if I have the strength left.” “What about you, Malachi?” “I feel okay.” The boy was calm and serene, staring at his surroundings as if for the last time.

A deep male voice-over chirped, “Welcome back to the COME HELL AND HIGH WATER right here on MEN TELEVISION with your hosts John Huber and Chelsea Dash!”

201 “More than twenty miles left on the river for those who remain, Chelsea. Let's go to the mile board!” A visual came up showing ten names. “Here's where we were only an hour ago, Chelsea. Where do they stand now?” “As expected, they continue to drop like flies, John. Pryce dropped out and so have Vager, Spense, and Flores. We're down to only five now - Nicholson, Jones, Bratt, Dimens and Malachi.” “Malachi - is that his first or last name?” “Both, I guess.” “Welcome to the New Age!” “Injury report?” Chelsea asked. “Closing on fifty, Chelsea.” “And look at the temperature! In the mid-nineties!” “Not to mention the river's still rising from last night's rains!”

Katie Jones drove to the long river pool below Shark's Tooth and set out a chair on the south shore alongside fifty other tourists watching the race. A wafer thin man and his thinner wife from Arizona sat on a blanket next to her. They were eating from a can of Dinty Moore Stew heated up on a portable stove. “You know anything about kayak racing?” the thin man asked her. “A little,” she said. “Can you tell me why anyone would want to go over sumpin' like that?” he asked, pointing upstream at the twelve foot drop of Sharks Tooth waterfall. “That waterfall's meaner than a bad marriage.” “Oh, shut the hell up,” his wife said. “You shut the hell up,” he said.

Up ahead at the teeth-chattering waterfall known as The Maytag, Wade spotted the television hosts on their platform,

202 giving a play-by-play of the river action below. Maytag was a tricky fall with a big hole under it that had stopped hundreds of boats in its history. Wade signaled to Malachi. They pulled off upstream and followed the river downstream on foot with their safety lines. Kyle held back, treading water until they were in place. Wade signaled to Kyle for a go. Kyle let loose, searching for the ribbon as he dropped into the hole. He was surfing violently and after five minutes, Wade tossed his rope to Kyle. “Let me pull you out!” Wade yelled. Kyle shouted back, “I think I got this baby!” He leaned in on the bow, hoping to pop out, but was sucked back under the waterfall. Kyle back paddled with everything he had left in his arms until he finally popped out. He pulled over to shore and rested. It was Malachi’s turn. He walked back and climbed into his kayak. Paddling hard, he entered the constricted chute of river and barreled into the left eddy, leaving the better approach of ribbon over the drop. His boat smashed into an enormous boulder on the left, almost capsized, then shot vertically across the eddy, missing the Maytag altogether. He paddled up to the bank and joined Kyle as Wade returned upstream to take his own boat down. “Damn!” Kyle said to Malachi with amazement. “You took a huge hit on that rock! Your shoulder okay?” “I'm fine,” Malachi said. Wade tucked himself in his kayak, studying the stream for a full minute. He didn't like the tongue Malachi rode and he sure as hell didn't want to sit under a Maytag and drown. He noticed the smooth-flowing flat vee pointing downstream. A vee usually indicated that the main current's flow was passing between two obstructions and if he hit it fast, he'd gain enough speed to miss the Maytag below altogether. He looked up at the helicopter hovering low above. It was

203 causing a ripple effect on the current but not enough to make a difference. Wade raised his middle finger and shouted, “Kiss my ass, Victoria!” But no one heard it over the noise of helicopter blades. Back at Control Central, Victoria laughed at the picture of Wade Jones flipping her off. “What's that all about?” the Director asked. “That's the Wade Jones international symbol of affection.” Back in the water, Wade yelled, “Let's rip.” He dug in with all the muscles of his arms, shoulders, back and legs. He hit the vee perfectly, flying up and over the fall in his own tongue of airborne boat. It splashed down fifteen feet beyond the hole in flat water. A gathering of spectators and a handful of spent athletes who were following the action as it progressed downstream gave him a standing ovation. “I have to admit,” Wade smiled to himself. “That was pretty damned impressive!” He paddled to the bank. Kyle stood up and clapped his hands in admiration. “You still got it, you sonofabitch!” The three men sat on the shore for five minutes, gathering their wits and assessing their strength. “We ready?” Wade said. He and Malachi stood and climbed in their kayaks. They turned to Kyle, sitting peacefully on the shore. “Kyle?” asked Wade. “Heat got to me. I ain't got nothin' left,” Kyle said. “You two? Go make history.” Wade saluted his old friend and paddled on, followed by Malachi. They looked up at the photo-op deck where a pair of idiotic pasty-faced television announcers waved at them.

“Looks like we got our first contestant coming!” the thin man at Shark's Tooth said, watching the river with his

204 binoculars. He handed the field glasses to Katie. She adjusted the focus and saw the last person she expected to see. “Dennis the Menace? I can't believe it!” “You know him?” asked the thin man. “That's Dennis Nicholson! My husband's old coach! I can't believe he's leading! He’s almost sixty years old.” She turned the binoculars further upstream. There were no kayaks in sight. “Never discount a man because of his age,” said the thin man. “Take me, for instance. I can go all night. Ain't that right, Peach?” He looked to his wife for confirmation. “So you say,” said she. “So you say.” Dennis Nicholson hit the top of the waterfall and plummeted into the hole below like a wingless duck falling from the sky. The hole tore him out of his kayak and he floated downstream, catching it and his paddle in front of Katie and the thin couple. Katie waded into the river. “Dennis! Are you okay?” He looked at her through dead stone eyes as he climbed back in his boat. “Dennis? It's me! Katie Jones! Have you seen Wade?” He pushed off from shore, paddling listlessly ahead - never looking back. “I thought he was an old friend,” the thin man said as Dennis disappeared around the bend. “He was,” Katie said with worry. What the hell kind of race is this? Those eyes! She remembered Icarus flying too close to the sun. The thin man took back his binoculars and examined the river upstream. “Say! It looks like we got a few more bodies coming!”

Back at Command Central, everyone was finishing a late lunch at his or her workstations.

205 “Five minutes to our move,” Jimmy Gregor announced. “Break down the overlook, get my talent to the suspension bridge and get this truck to the finish line.” “Company is moving,” said an A.D. into a headset for all to hear. The director turned to Victoria. “By the time our heroes make the Royal Gorge we’ll have lost our light on the canyon floor.” “Can we get a helicopter in there?” “Too narrow.” “What about those kiddy planes?” “The Ultralights? I doubt it.” “What if we offer the pilot a five grand bonus?” Victoria said. “That'll make somebody's day,” said Jimmy Gregor. “Then make it happen.”

Katie waited onshore for the next two kayaks. They were Bratt and Dimens. As she waded into the river, a handheld camera operator appeared from the road and slid down on his backside to the river. He videotaped Bratt complaining of a broken wrist and Dimens showing off his bleeding scalp to Katie. “You might have a concussion,” Katie said, cleaning his wound. “Anybody ahead of us?” Dimens asked. “Just one,” said the thin man. “He was about my age.” “Dennis the Menace?” Bratt complained as Katie pulled a bandage from his emergency bag. “It was Dennis,” Katie confirmed. “Goddamit!” Bratt argued to Dimens. “We can't have that old bastard winning this contest. We'll look like fools!” “He won't enter the gorge,” Dimens said. “If we all stop together, maybe we can all split the money,” Bratt said.

206 “Well, let's see if he's up ahead, but I can tell you right now - I'm not going into that gorge with this headache and you sure as hell ain't gonna make it with that broken wrist!” Katie finished bandaging the wound and handed Bratt back his first aid kit. The disgruntled kayakers pushed off and headed downstream. Katie turned her eyes upstream. “Hey, pretty lady! Turn around and smile for the camera!” said the camera operator behind her. “Not much to smile about,” Katie shrugged. “Who you rootin' for?” “My husband. Wade Jones.” “Wade 'Bones' Jones?” “Yep.” “Anything you want to say to him? He's just around the bend with Malachi.” “I'll tell him when I see him.” Katie said as she turned away.

Inside Command Central, Victoria tossed her glass of champagne at one of the monitors as the Switcher ducked. “What the hell is she doing here?” Victoria screamed. “Great!” the Director cheered. “Now we got a nice human interest angle!” He slipped on his headset, yelling up to the truck's driver. “Tony, hold up on the move just yet! I got one more call to make!” He turned up the volume control on the master board. “Camera five - you still at the river?” “Just making my way up the hill,” the operator said. “Well, get your skinny ass back down that hill and stay with the wife! We're down to five men and I need cutaways!” “Ten-four boss.” Victoria leaped from her producer’s chair and tore the director's headset off his head. “What do you think you're doing?” “Hey, lady - this is a show - we need footage!”

207 “Not her!” “If any of those guys enters the gorge, I got dead air for three hours!” “Not her!” “Tell you what, Miss Paley. We keep our camera with her and we only go to her if Wade Jones enters the gorge. Don't you see the drama? You saw that old guy in the lead! There's no way he can make it through that gorge! And Jones is in last place! He's a has-been too! You tell me I don't want a face to cut to when things go wrong? You gonna tell me I don't want to be there in a close-up on her face, the wife's face, if her husband drowns?” “If her husband drowns?” “Come on, Miss Paley. I wasn't born yesterday. I got ears. People talk. I know all about what happened back on the Dolores River. This isn't a race. This is an expensive revenge. Now you want me to raise the ratings?” “Okay,” she reluctantly agreed. “Use the wife. But only if Wade Jones enters the gorge.” The director smiled and yelled to the driver. “Take us to the finish line, baby!”

A handheld camera operator and a sound technician holding a boom microphone joined Katie and the others on the riverbank. She didn't need binoculars to recognize Wade bouncing down the wavetrain towards Shark's Tooth. He was one of a kind the way he sat in a boat and handled his paddle. She presumed the young man paddling next to her husband was the boy named Malachi. The kayakers pulled to the side and scouted the fall below. The young man went first, riding the fall perfectly and pulling to the riverbank to wait for Wade. “My husband’s playing it safe,” Katie told the thin wife with a nervous voice. “Wade Jones is your husband?” asked the eavesdropping cameraman. He turned his camera on the river.

208 Wade started his descent. The waterfall grew in size with every stroke until there he was - at the crest of the jagged waterfall. Katie bit her hand. “Oh, God! Don't let him break like Denny!” Using his hips, Wade suddenly pulled the boat around, backing into the fall, pushing his hot-dogging paddle in deep to clear the break, then dropping soundly into the pool below where he easily backed out with a second backpedal. Katie took a deep breath and sighed. Her husband floated downstream, staring back at the victory of his hundredth challenge of the day. The camera crew followed Katie. She grabbed a candy bar and bottled water from her cooler and hurried into the water, catching the stern of his boat in her hands. He turned around absently. “What the...” “Candy bar, stranger?” “Kat...” Wade was speechless. She reached for him, kissing him soundly on the lips. “I love you, Wade!” He smiled at her with wet eyes. “I loved you first!” As they kissed again, Malachi paddled up to them. “Katie, I want you to meet a friend of mine,” Wade said after their lips parted. “Malachi, may I present my wife, Katie.” “Hello, Mrs. Jones. It's a real pleasure to have met you,” the boy said softly. Katie could not stop staring at the boy with the angelic blue eyes. It was him - the angel that held Wade's boat in her dream - the angel that said in a calm voice that men are supposed to die. But this Malachi - he wasn't mean or unkind. He was beautiful and radiant. Wade scratched his chin. “Katie - what are you doing here? How did you get here? When did you get here?” “Just now,” she said, turning away from the boy that brought her an inner calm.

209 “Is something wrong, Katie?” “No. Everything is fine.” She glanced at Malachi again. “In fact, everything is wonderful! That's why I'm here!” “Can you believe it, Katie? I'm in last place.” She put the bottled water inside the kayak skirt, then unwrapped the candy bar, stuffing it in his mouth. “I don't think I have the strength to chew,” Wade laughed. “Wade?” Malachi said urgently. “We really have to go now. We’re not done yet.” “Wha....” “I save you, you save me. Remember?” “Yeah, but Katie's here now and....” “Wade? We have to go now. The river is waiting for us.” Malachi turned back to Katie. “Just a few more hours, Mrs. Jones. Then you can keep him forever.” He had such soft doe eyes when he said it. “Are you really going to enter the gorge?” Katie asked Wade. “God, I hope not,” Wade said. “But somebody's got to catch old Dennis the Menace before he does something crazy.” “I saw him, Wade. His eyes. Dennis is sick, Wade.” “Well, we better catch up then. I owe the old bastard that much after all those years he coached me. Anybody else ahead of us?” “Two guys. One has a concussion and the other has a broken wrist. They said they'll stop before the gorge.” “So, there's only one left to save.” “No, Wade.” She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “Remember the good news I wanted to share with you?” He looked down at his hand on her warm wet belly. “Congratulations. You're a dad,” Katie said. “I'm a...?” His kayak drifted into the water and he started floating away. “I'm a dad?” Wade yelled back to her.

210 “A dad!” she shouted back. “I'll see you at the finish line!” “Yahoo! I'm a dad!” Wade shouted to Malachi. “It’s a miracle! Can you believe it?” “I believe.” The proud camera operator and his assistant caught the entire exchange live.

Inside Command Central, everyone ducked as Victoria Paley flew into the greatest shitfit temper tantrum of her life. “I swear to you it never made it on the air!” the director promised from under his desk. “What a waste,” Victoria ranted over and over again. “What a waste.”

211 THE ROYAL GORGE

Less than a mile downstream, Wade and Malachi came around a bend and saw two spent men sitting on a boulder near their overturned boats. A camera operator was videotaping them from a bluff across the river. “Howdy, Wade,” Bratt said. “Howdy, Bratt. Looks like we made it a-ways,” said Wade. He and Malachi pulled to shore and climbed out of their kayaks, stretching their legs. “That we did, Wade,” Dimens spoke. “But the snake took its toll. Anybody left behind you?” “Nope. As far as I can tell we're the last ones. He looked at the bandage on Dimens head. “Concussion?” “It's comin'. Feels like I'm drippin' blood in the back of my brain.” “Guess I'll take dim Dimens and me into the next town for some x-rays,” Bratt said. “Where’s Dennis the Menace?” Wade asked. “You mean Spooky Dennis - been staring at his derriere all day,” Dimens said. “You'll find him around the next bend up ahead in his boat. Been dodging us like we got a plague. Every time we move up, he moves up, hoping a television camera will see him in first place. But nobody can get in this part of the river. I don't think he wants to enter the gorge but then again, he ain't gonna let nobody pass him either. I’ll bet you a buck he’s parked in his boat around the next bend, praying we’re all finished.” “Dennis doesn’t pray,” Malachi said. “Old bastard,” Bratt said.

212 Wade took a long drink from his water bottle. “Malachi? I'm gonna walk the river up ahead, see if I can talk some sense into Dennis. Maybe I won't spook him if he sees me on foot. Can you get these kayaks up to the roadside?” “I’ll take care of it,” said Malachi. Wade cautiously followed the fast-flowing river, gripping at the vegetation along the riverbanks so he wouldn't be forced into the current. Fifty yards ahead, he turned a sharp bend, climbing a rock to get a view downstream. He found madman Dennis Nicholson below, his aching body half in his banged up boat, eyes twitching, examining the river upstream for humans in kayaks. His arms and face were bloodied. “Jesus,” Wade said. He yelled down to the man. “What the hell kind of mess you get yourself into, Dennis?” Dennis turned around, flashing his paddle like a weapon. “Jes' keep yer distance, Jones!” “Hell, Dennis, if I wanted I coulda jumped you and smashed your head in already.” “You'd like that, wouldn't you, Wade? You'd like to claim the day. Just like always! The great Wade Jones gettin' all the glory while old Dennis lays back sucking on what's left of the tit!” “Come on, Dennis. It ends here,” Wade said. “We can climb this hill together and be done with the river.” He glanced ahead at Deadman's Drop - the narrow entrance to the Royal Gorge - a point of no return. “Your boat won. Gotta be worth at least forty thousand dollars cash in your pocket.” Denny's eyes scanned the horizon. “So you say - and not a damned camera in sight to prove it,” he said. “Hell, Dennis, you can take my word.” “Your word don't mean nuthin' to me! I got you to two Olympics and what did you do when you got there? You pissed it all away, pissed away that God-given talent, never listening to a damned word of advice I gave you. You think

213 them Olympics cost you? What about me? I lost everything trying to take you to the top! My wives, my career - all bet on you - and you threw me away like an old penny when it was over.” “I got married, Dennis. Tried to move on. Even got a kid coming now!” “Not so much as a Christmas card from you,” Dennis yelled. “To a man who treated you like a father!” “Dennis... Let's get off the river. We'll talk about old times. I got a kid coming. You won the race.” “Any kind of lie to get me to stop - to hell with you! To hell with everybody!” He slid into his boat. “Denny, don't...” Wade started sliding down the rock to stop him. “Yeah, that's right, Jones! You just try to stop me!” He pushed off into the river. “Come on, Denny. Pull over!” Wade yelled. “I'm right where God wants me to be,” Dennis decided. Wade fell into the water and reached for Dennis' boat. The old man fought back, slapping at Wade's fingers with the blades of his scarred paddle. “I'm taking the day! Me!” the older man ranted. “Dennis...” Wade called out. “Stop Dennis! There's another way!” “To hell with you, Jones!” Dennis shouted as his boat caught the current and drifted downstream between the narrow granite walls of the gorge. “This is the only way!” The old man drifted into Deadman's Drop and was gone.

“Whew! What a day!” John Huber said into the television camera from his new location on the famous suspension bridge above The Royal Gorge. “Two hundred men and women started and now only one remains - Dennis 'The Menace' Nicholson, the oldest man in today's competition - is trying to go all the way!”

214 “Uh, not so fast, John,” Chelsea said as she listened to a wire in her ear. “It appears we still have two more competitors in the water – One of our cameras has just spotted Malachi and Jones entering the gorge!” “The incredible Wade Jones!” John Huber said. “He was trailing the pack all day and now it comes down to this! Two old rivals - the coach and his protégé - a man fighting cancer and a man fighting old age!” “Let's not leave out our mystery man Malachi!” Chelsea Dash said. “He has some amazing strength and endurance and has already had some fantastic runs!”

“Cue the kid's highlights!” barked Jimmy Gregor from his director's chair. After the highlights started to run, Gregor lit his tenth cigar of the day and came out of the trailer in the gravel parking lot adjacent to the bottom of the gorge. The company move to the finish line had gone smoothly. Now all they had to do was wait and see if anybody could finish. Gregor found Victoria Paley sitting in the sand on the riverbank, and holding a new bottle of champagne. She was watching a pair of happy little boys in the shallow calm of the riverbank splashing each other playfully. “Look at those boys,” she said. “Not a care in the world. Someday they’ll become river rats.” “Wade Jones and his old coach are in the gorge now but we’re blind down there. I'm running with the wife to hook the viewers.” “Whatever,” Victoria said despondently, turning from the kids to watch the fast current. “What's wrong? I thought this was what you wanted,” Gregor said. “To end like this? Waiting for an old man to drown?” “He just might make it,” Jimmy said. “Old Dennis doesn't want to make it,” Victoria said. “What makes you say that?”

215 “He died years ago - I was just too foolish to see it. And that idiot Wade with the pregnant wife... stupid romantics, all of them.” Gregor didn't bother to answer the nutty, drunken, broad. Instead he blew a smoke ring into the sky and returned inside the trailer. “Anybody got a location on Mrs. Jones?” The Switcher pointed to camera seven. “She’s just arrived on our lot. We’re trying to get a handheld on her for an interview.” “Well, see that she doesn't get near our little darling,” Gregor said. “The princess is out of sorts.” The Switcher stared up at the monitors. “Next year? I don't want any part of this race.” “Why not?” asked Jimmy. “It's like shooting fish in a barrel. And that Paley broad? She's one sick and twisted human being.” “Money will do that to a person,” said Gregor. “How much money?” “Depends on the person - take this Dennis the Menace guy - he broke for fifty nine grand.” “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over. Back to the talent on the bridge?” asked the Switcher. “Yeah, and Frank?” he asked an editor. “Let's pull up some of that tourist crap about the bridge until we see if we got a cat fight or not outside.” “Gotcha, boss,” said the editor, sliding a cassette into a player. “It runs ten minutes.” “Bootiful. Let's play it” - then into his headset - “Okay, everyone, we're breaking away to a video. Ten-minute stretch and then we ride this race to the end!”

They could see him now - a hundred yards downstream - Dennis wasn't even paddling anymore - just holding on to his boat, bouncing from one rock to the next like a man trapped in a pinball machine.

216 “What do we do when we catch him?” Malachi yelled over the rushing water, paddling next to Wade. “Beats the hell out of me,” Wade said. “About a mile ahead there's an elevator that drops down to the canyon floor from the Royal Gorge suspension bridge. Maybe we can yank him out there!”

Stock footage was airing on MEN TV. A nasal narrator droned over a boring video showing still pictures from then and now. “The Royal Gorge Bridge is Colorado's own man-made wonder! At 1,053 feet high, the panoramic vistas of the granite gorge below are truly hypnotic! The world's highest suspension bridge spans a quarter mile across this deep gorge! Construction on the bridge began here on June 5, 1929 and was completed in November the same year. Its length is 1,260 feet - Width: 18 feet and the Main Span reaches 880 feet between two 150-foot tall towers. 2,100 strands of No.9 galvanized wire went into the spans and the cables weigh 300 tons. The bridge floor contains 1,000 tons of steel and the walkway has 1,292 planks. If the bridge were built today, it would cost well over twenty million dollars! But there are other marvels here as well that include the world's longest single-span aerial tram and the world's steepest incline railway descending down past towering granite walls until it brings you to the canyon floor at the wet river's edge! The incline drops 1,550 feet and is powered by an Otis Elevator! Going up anyone? Rate of descent is three miles per hour and takes five minutes.... Down below, look for the raging Arkansas River, still carving its own destiny...”

“And we're coming at you live from the Royal Gorge bridge on one and two and... Go to the talent,” Gregor ordered the Switcher.

217 “We're on the bridge now as darkness approaches in the western sky,” said John Huber. “It's been almost an hour since we have had any kind of contact with the three remaining athletes - Nicholson, Jones and Malachi.” He listened to his earpiece. “Late breaking news! As I speak, one of our daring Ultralights mounted with a camera is about to fly into the very heart of the dark gorge itself to find our three finalists as they risk their lives in the final leg of THE HELL AND HIGH WATER!” “And boy, has this river lived up to its name today John!” shouted Chelsea. “This just in, Chelsea! The water is now pushing 8500 CFS!” replied John. “Looks like yesterday's rain has caught up to our heroes.”

It was starting to get dark at the finish line. Victoria stood and threw her empty champagne bottle into the river. “Victoria Paley?” said the voice from behind. “Yes?” As she turned around, all Victoria Paley saw was the flying fist. “I just have one thing to say to you,” said the woman. “If Wade Jones doesn't come out of this canyon? You'll wish you were never born.” Victoria's eyes rolled in her head as blood oozed out of her used-to-be perfect nose.

The Royal Gorge was all technical now. Gone were the easier runs of Ready, Set and Go as the wavetrain pushed them closer to Dennis. Wade and Malachi bumped past Pumphouse. “We have to paddle harder or we'll miss the last stop!” Wade pointed at the suspension bridge ahead. They both dug in, slowly and steadily coming up on either side of Dennis. The old man's head was hanging as if asleep, his hands feebly clutching his paddle as a rudder, going with

218 the flow of the dangerous rapids congested with boiling eddies and sharp jagged rocks. “Dennis!” Wade shouted as he and Malachi grabbed onto the hull of his boat, “Dennis! We're taking you out up ahead at the bridge! You won, Dennis! You won! The day is yours!” Dennis reared his head as if startled from a deep sleep, lashing out blindly. He smashed the blade of his paddle down on Wade's gloved hand. There was the acute sound of bones cracking against the plastic hull. He broke my hand, Wade realized. A stinging burning sensation followed, sending impulses of conscious appreciation to his brain. He glanced at his ripped glove, three shattered bones, breaking the surface. But he kept his hand fast. “Wade!” Malachi shouted, looking ahead. “We can't make that ribbon together! One of us has to let go of his boat!” “You let go, Malachi!” “No, Wade! Look at your hand! He mangled it!” “I can still use it!” An Ultralight suddenly appeared from above, startling the men. Dennis pried Wade’s hand loose with his paddle and pushed him off. Dammit! Wade fell back, watching helplessly as Dennis and Malachi shot into the narrows ahead, passing the suspension bridge where a camera crew stood on the narrow ledge videotaping the scene. Some of the idiots were applauding. Wade’s hand was stiffening. A hand he needed to grip the paddle, to survive what was ahead. But there was no time to stop, no time for repairs. He looked ahead now as Malachi and Dennis disappeared around a sharp corner. The S turns of Corner Pocket were coming up where the river took a sharp turn to the right and then a sharp turn back to the left. He had to keep his hands secured on the paddle for a hard

219 turn or the vertical wall of the river would smash him into pieces. Wade bit down on his lip, transferring his pain center.

Katie stood with Pete and Kyle at a monitor. One of the television crewmembers had rigged it outside Command Central. She watched in horror as the Ultralight flew over the men just as Dennis Nicholson smashed Wade's hand with the paddle. They had missed their last opportunity to escape the river. Pete put his arm around Katie. “We-ha-worse,” he mumbled through broken teeth. An ice pack and four shots of Novocain were keeping the pain away. “Now what?” Katie asked. Kyle pointed to the mouth of the canyon ahead. “We wait until they come out.” “How long will it take?” “Tha- depen- on wha- we canno- see an-more,” Pete mumbled. They looked up at the darkening sky. “Either of you guys ever run anything like The Royal Gorge at night?” Both men were afraid to give an answer. “I didn't think so,” Katie murmured.

Wade gripped the paddle, working his mind past the numbing pain, attempting a turn to reach the line on the left side. He made it just in time. But now there was a new rapid to remember - Sledgehammer - It would be pushing Class VI today and the deep gorge was losing its light. Massive hydraulics were pushing up past the house-sized boulder everyone knew as “The Dead.” The churning river squeezed to the left side, forming a huge maytagging hole. He didn't know how much was left in him now. He looked ahead for Dennis and Malachi but they were nowhere to be seen. I save you - you save me - Now all I can do is save myself...

220 Maybe ten minutes had passed since Sledgehammer - Wade couldn't even remember how he made it through. Hypothermia, making bad decisions. Katie's ahead. Got to keep going to Kate... His band hand was numb, the other starting to, his legs cramping up. Suddenly he was in Wall Slammer - the most difficult rapid in the gorge before the big one - Devil's Thumb - He looked to his right and realized his boat was getting pushed into an overhang of sharp rocks. Dig, Wade! Dig or you die! He launched his body behind his stroke and broke river left, snagging his boat on a rock that bounced him into an abandoned rod of rusty iron rebar that had lodged itself between two rocks, pointing upstream like a deadly harpoon. It pierced through his vest and entered his left side, tearing through his flesh, cracking bones and cartilage, pinning him against it as the raging water pushed him from behind, impaling him deeper and deeper on its deadly point. “Aghh!” he screamed in absolute agony. “Not like this,” he screamed. “I can't let it get me!” He tucked his paddle under an arm, put both hands on the rebar, and pushed against it, feeling the release of warm blood spilling onto his hands. He was moving off it! “Harder, Wade! Harder! You promised Katie you'd come back to her! Don't break the promise! Fight! Get the adrenaline pumping! They're only muscle, bone and ligaments! Your family needs you!” He gave it one final push and popped free. The kayak rocketed away from the rebar, sending him in a gush downstream as he frantically fumbled for his paddle. Without a paddle, he would never survive what lie ahead. And his side - it was nothing but soft tissue and thick, oozing blood. Can't let the muscles contract, can't get dizzy, losing blood...

221 He was coming up on a torrent of white water now, raging over a major drop, slamming into rocks creating huge standing waves. Can't take much more...Can't read the river without light. Need the sun. The damned sun. Can't remember what's what... He took the right side of the river, unable to remember how or where the water ran. All he knew was that he had to get down the river. I promised Malachi. I save you - you save me. Have to get past The Devil's Thumb. I promised Katie - the baby. A boy or a girl? “Wade!” Malachi screamed from a rock outcropping. Wade saw the powerful boy up ahead on the left, wedged between rocks in his kayak, tossing him a safety line. Wade grabbed the line instinctively and held on as Malachi pulled him in to him and wedged his boat in. Malachi saw the gaping bloody hole in Wade's side. “The river got you?” “It was manmade,” Wade said. “Like one of Victoria's evil fingers reaching out.” Finding the boy and seeing him alive made Wade forget about his bleeding hand and punctured broken ribs. Malachi searched inside his kayak's spray skirt and pulled out a First Aid Kit. He tore it open, reaching under Wade's torn vest, he sopped up blood and applied a handful of gauze. “We have to get you out of here,” Malachi yelled. “You lost too much blood!” “Any sign of Dennis?” Wade asked with a wince. “He's below us.” Malachi gestured ahead to the drop at The Devil's Thumb. “Right there.” “Under the Devil's Thumb,” Wade realized. “I managed to follow the ledge below. He's trapped in a giant maytag. If we shoot the hole and miss him, we can't get back upstream for a second chance! What should we do? He's drowning in there!”

222 Wade looked at the distance to the drop. Neither of their safety lines would reach alone but together they could. He handed Malachi his rope. “Tie them together and lower me to him,” Wade ordered. “Once you see him pop free, let go of the line and try to take the river right.” “But what if you flush into the hole? How do I get you out then?” “Don't worry about me, Malachi. I'll make it out.” “I'm sorry, Wade but we can't do it this way!” Malachi shouted over the roar of water. “Besides, we made promises. Remember? What if you don't make it out? I'm the one who should go to him. I'm stronger.” “But I have the experience, Malachi.” “No, Wade. I save you. Besides you have a wife and child to think about now!” The boy took the rope in his hands and pulled Wade's boat in between the rocks. “This is as it should be Wade! What happens when strangers cross paths - the difference a minute, an hour, a day makes from chance encounters that were never supposed to happen - God sent me to you Wade and now God says I must go!” The boy reached over and squeezed his good hand. “A new promise from you - never forget me.” “Malachi....” “Never forget me, Wade!” He released Wade's hand and pushed into the river, inching towards the rapid along the safety line as Wade fed it along. The pull of the water was immense. Wade tucked his good side against a boulder, holding fast against it. He glanced up one last time, seeing the beautiful boy poised above the drop like a mighty Saint Christopher searching for Jesus in the water below. And then his safety line went limp. It came back in Wade’s hands like a rebounding rubber band. “No!” Wade screamed. “No!”

223 He looked ahead, hoping to see Malachi and Dennis popping out of the maytag below and floating to freedom. But he saw nothing ahead. The black canyon walls were closing in on him too fast now. Darkness was invading his senses. Maybe they did pop out. Maybe I couldn't see them. Malachi knew what he was doing. The rope was his lifeline. He only let go when he was free. The Devil's Thumb. It's my turn now.

Halogen lights running off the power of a portable generator lit the exit of the gorge. It had been hours since the three men entered the gorge but so far nothing had come out - no bodies, no boats - nothing. Dozens of men and women in yellow Paley Communications hats were lining the north bank, hoping to snag whatever might wash out at any moment. Inside the production trailer, Jimmy Gregor lit his final cigar as he watched the video someone shot of Katie Jones punching Victoria Paley in the kisser. “Can't use it,” Gregor said. “After all, I got a family and two ex-wives to feed... then again, I'd love to see it at the annual Christmas party.” He punched a button. The videotape unloaded from the machine. Gregor stuck it in his personal bag. He’d give it to Victoria if she asked for it. The on-air talent had arrived from the suspension bridge and was set-up outside the trailer for their end run when or if anything came out of the canyon. A medivac helicopter was on standby up the hill waiting to evacuate injured or dead kayakers. “Not a pretty day,” Jimmy Gregor muttered. “Not a pretty day for anybody.”

Wade looped the safety line around the crag of a boulder, securing it tightly before he inched his boat out towards the

224 eighteen-inch ribbon that could take him over the life- threatening drop of the waterfall if he didn't screw up. Hand over bloody hand he made his way closer and closer to The Devil's Thumb until he finally reached the precipice. He looked down into the black murky water below. “Malachi! Dennis! Malachi!” His eyes searched the oily black ink of water below but there was nothing there. No kayaks. No men. It was as if they had disappeared from the face of the earth. He didn't know how long he was there. It could have been minutes; it seemed like hours, riding the top of the devil, shouting for them against all reason until he knew that the only hope for them was downstream at the finish line. If they weren’t there, then maybe they were nowhere. Such was the animosity of the river - the great snake - it wasn't personal. Wade pulled himself in the kayak upstream along the safety line. If he was going to jump The Devil's Thumb he would need all the speed and distance he could get to run the finger and make the leap past the crunching and spinning maytag. In a pitch-black darkness. Pure madness. A fool's end. Katie loves me. I love Katie. Ready, set, go…

Kyle came down to the river with a cup of hot coffee for Katie. “Anything?” “No.” Kyle shook his head. “Damned shame.” He looked up at the black moonless sky. “Just gets worse, doesn't it, Pete?” “Don- tal-k li-ke tha- Kyle. We godda belie-ve or wha- else is they-are?” His Novocain was wearing off and he was suffering. “If they're alive, then where the hell are they?” Kyle wondered.

225 “There!” Katie suddenly pointed into the canyon. “There! Something is coming! Can you see it? Up there!” She rushed into the river up to her waist, fighting the current as something emerged now. “A boat!” Katie shouted. “A boat!” “It's Wade's!” Kyle screamed as he raced into the river next to Katie. “Get us some lights over here!” Kyle ordered a man near the halogens. A light was aimed upstream. Kyle and Katie grabbed the hull of Wade's empty boat. There was a gaping hole in it. Dozens of volunteers waded into the river. “Make a human chain across the river! Nothing gets by!” People held hands, shoulder to shoulder. “There!” Katie shouted again. “He's there!” A beacon of light fell upon the shiny torn vest of Wade Jones as he floated into view - face up, arms extended. “Wade!” Katie shouted. “Wade!” She snatched at him as he floated by, pulling him to the safety of the riverbank. “Wade, can you hear me? Wade?” “Hey,” was the only word left in him. “Hey,” she said as she hugged him in the water and broke into uncontrollable sobs of relief. “You'll be all right, baby. We'll be okay,” she cried. A small, innocent smile formed on his exhausted face.

Inside Command Central Jimmy Gregor watched the monitors in abated relief as Mrs. Jones pulled her half-dead husband out of the river. “It looks like we have a winner and sort of a happy ending! And that my friends is a beautiful end to a very bad day,” Jimmy Gregor announced. “Now let's get us a nice Medivac shot of Mr. Jones being transported to a hospital with our hosts rapping it up for the yawning viewers and then we can call it a day.” “What about the other two? Nicholson and Malachi?”

226 “Casualties of war - anybody seen the princess?” “She just flew back to Denver on one of the video choppers.” “Well, good riddance to her.” The Director looked back at the television monitor and started to applaud the visual of Wade Jones carried on a stretcher towards a helicopter, his wife holding his hand. “Look at that image my friends – Wade Jones is a true American hero! He risked his life for his fellow man and his pregnant wife stood by him to the end.” An assistant director came in with a printout. “Show's getting great ratings! All the networks are waiting for footage of the final moments!” Jimmy Gregor glanced at the ratings. “Holy shit!” He handed the ratings to the Switcher. “What do you make of that?” “Sick people in a sick society waiting for sick things to happen,” said the Switcher. “Upload the medivac footage. This should sell a few DVDs.”

227 WAR WOUNDS

It was a four-bed room at Saint Thomas More Hospital in Canon City. All beds were taken. Kyle, hooked up to an I.V. drip to restore his body fluids, was snoring. Next to him, Pistol Pete, also on an I.V. drip, was snoring even louder. Across the room, Katie and Wade slept in separate beds, wheeled together. She held his good hand while he slept. Wade had a punctured lung, two broken ribs and a crooked hand but he'd be okay in a few days, the doctor said after looking at x-rays and an MRI. A nurse came in and removed the last needle from Wade's arm that provided the blood needed to restore Wade to a full tank. After she left, Wade opened his eyes and turned to Katie. “What a day,” he said. “Yep.” “Malachi? I think you would have liked him.” “I'm sure I would have,” Katie reassured him. “Funny thing, though? Right before he went down the river for Dennis he said that he had to be the one to go because I had a wife and child now.” “We all have angels, Wade.” “I think you're right, Kat.” He closed his eyes and saw Malachi on the water - floating away until he was no more.

The nuns at the hospital did not believe in instant breakfasts on plastic trays. They believed in feasts. Hot baked breads and biscuits, poached eggs, Canadian bacon, and homemade sausage patties, real cream, gourmet coffees, jams made from their fruit trees.

228 “Some people come here just for the food,” Sister Mary said as she served up a plate to a refreshed Katie and her other guests. She even gave a county cop named Pagent a plate as he filled everyone in on what he knew. “Still no bodies.” Pagent said. “We had volunteers out all night and this morning but nobody found anything. Sometimes they surface, sometimes they don't.” Pagent shook his head as he referred to his interview notes. “That Nicholson guy. Think he bought the river on purpose?” Wade looked at Pete and Kyle. “Knowing Dennis? Yeah.” “And nobody here can come up with a last name on this Malachi kid?” “No,” Wade said from a sitting position. “We only knew him as Malachi.” “Malachi comes from the Hebrew word ‘messenger,’” Sister Mary said as she poured coffees all around. “He was a loyal angel with an Old Testament sense of justice. God sent him to earth to do battles with demons and fallen angels.” “Yeah, well, thanks for the insight, Sister, but I need something a little more present tense about the kid,” Pagent said. “You know, like where he was from so maybe we can notify the family.” “What about the Volkswagen bus he drove?” Wade asked. Pagent scratched his head. “We ran the plates. They're from a Dodge Dart convertible. No registration, no title. The thing was put together with pieces from a junk yard.” “Fingerprints then?” Kyle asked. “We got prints off the car but there's no match and without a body...” “Surely somebody will recognize him from the television coverage...” Katie suggested. “We can only hope,” said the officer. “Me? I'm a religious guy. You ask me? I like the angel approach. Makes it neat and tidy from what you told me happened on the river, Mr. Jones. What did the kid say again?” “You save me, I save you.”

229 “Yeah, I like that.” Pagent smiled absently. “Can't put it in my report, though. Captain will think I got a screw loose.”

230 HOME SWEET HOME

The national media caught on to Wade Jones fever and he was tossed into the spotlight for a week, appearing via satellite from his hospital bed for all the morning and late night talk shows. A slew of job offers followed that he would sift through in the following weeks. A few days after he returned home, there was a knock at the door on a Saturday. It was a mail carrier with a certified delivery for Wade Jones. He signed for it and opened the envelope from Paley Communications. Inside was a check for fifty-nine thousand dollars. “Blood money,” Wade said. He handed Katie the check. “Burn it or put it in the bank. You decide.” Katie was a practical woman. The money would be put to good use.

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