Sometimes a trip doesn’t live up to all you had hoped for and this past weekend was a perfect example of that. We went on a 2 day canoe trip with a river that didn’t cooperate. I learned, after the fact, that a river’s discharge is measured in cubic feet per second. Anything over 100 CFS is good for canoeing, rafting, etc. and the Guadalupe River this past weekend was at 37 CFS. In other words, we spent more time out of the canoe, pulling it through rock fields than we did paddling. It wasn’t the greatest timing for a hike through sharp rocks as my sprained ankle is still recovering and continues to swell daily. At a certain point, I slipped and fell on my ankle and re-injured it. I lay in the middle of the river bed and cried like a baby. Not silent, classy tears but loud, howling crying like someone on the verge of a mental break-down. I have to give props to my husband who put his arm around me and allowed me to cry inconsolably as drunken college kids went past on their booze laden inner tubes. He didn’t rush me, and let me cry it out and then helped me back into the canoe and proceeded to pull my dead weight the rest of the way down the dry, barren river bed. We finished out the camping trip and were in the car, on the way home last night when we pulled up to a red light at a major intersection. A huge lady in a Chevy Tahoe plowed into the back end of my car. Everyone in our car was okay except for whiplash but my Toyota is crushed and in need of a body shop. The only light moment came when my daughter said, “Mommy, I can’t believe we got hit by a manatee.”
