Into the River

Hello from the kitchen table

Water under the Tyler T. Potterfield Bridge. Photo by @lumonaut.

July 5, 2024, 11:05
High 99ºF/ Low 78ºF, blue skies, pressure 1009 mb, new moon, luteal

We’re officially in the dog days of summer, a term coined by the Romans to mark the beginning of the hottest days of the year in the Northern Hemisphere — July 3 - August 11. The “dog” refers to the star system Sirius rising just before the sun in the sky. The Romans referred to this period as "dies caniculares" or "days of the dog star," which was eventually translated as just "dog days”.

Here in Virginia, we’re feeling it.

Back in January, it was cold and I was considering what course to set for my 32nd year.

I missed the way that living on a sailboat encouraged me to sync with the weather, I missed being outside most of the day. I was untethered from the route that had set my priorities straight for years, and a little flustered without the slow and steady pace of moving five miles per hour, day in and day out. I was a cyclist trying to merge onto the highway of US society, a frog lobbed into a boiling pot of water. I was in the swamp.

We finished our voyage in June and by January, we were physically settled in a house, employed, and once again licensed to drive cars. I was a few weeks into hosting craft night and the words were flowing on the newsletter again. Culture shock had softened to the occasional zap. I knew moving my body and being outdoors was key to shaking out some of the big, scary experiences I found at sea and calling back the ease and awe that was characteristic of most days along the route.

Inspiration struck and I invited everyone to the 1st Annual Tri-Ash-lon.

Twenty people rolled through for some portion of the cold plunge, bike ride, and walk along the river. Our house served as a home base, decorated with the leftovers from my friend’s 1-year-old’s birthday party the week before. Folks faced their fears of jumping in the water and were surprised at how nice it felt, once the chill wore off. Fishermen along the banks joined in to sing me happy birthday. I was nervous about leading the bike ride because of a bad experience getting back in the saddle the previous fall, so I asked a friend who took the reins and even practiced the route a couple of times beforehand. Two people had bike failure issues in the first block but rolled with it, renting nearby scooters and zipping around to keep the group together, adding a layer of hilarity to the whole thing. Rachel took photos and played Peanuts songs on the piano during the bike/walk transition, the other Rachel had and used a megaphone, and Scott designed and printed race fliers that made pedestrians wonder and laugh at what we were up to on that chilly day. Linda brought tea and her friend brought her dog, Olive. I carried a friend’s eight-year-old, piggyback style and he gave me dandelions to make wishes.

I didn’t know it then, but I was leaning in towards becoming a river guide.

Here’s a little clip of my scouting mission to find the Tri-Ash-Lon swim spot.

Zoom forward 160 days and I work for a paddlesports outfitter as a whitewater raft guide and summer camp counselor.

Last night, I guided four strangers downstream at dusk and watched fireworks while floating in the same river I jumped into back in January. There’s more to say about all of this, but it’s time to toss on my river clothes and get back out there.