The Writer's Block

I’ve not given up blogging. I’ve just returned from a three-week road trip through Utah, Idaho, Montana and Wyoming. Trust me when I say they could have left me on the side of the road in any of those states with a full canteen and a stick of beef jerky and I would have been utterly happy.

Our journey landed us the first night in Kanab, Utah where my father-in-law owns a custom home. This was a cheat camp night. We pulled our 18 foot Fun Finder into his giant barn and ran the air-conditioner all night, rent-free.

But the second night we turned up at Smith’s Trout Farm in Lava Hot Springs, Idaho. We parked our trailer on the largest stretch of green grass I’ve ever seen in my life. It stretched from the rolling hills on the West across a valley to some taller mountains on the East. Tiny ponds dotted the grass here and there and I doubt there was a trout in any of them, as not once did my husband pullout his fishing pole while we were there. We had no hook-ups and slept with the windows open and the smell of sweet grass floated in the window at night along with the sound of distant trains as they traversed the hillside.

The next day we went into Lava Hot Springs and discovered people of all ages tubing down the Portneuf River which was only 3 feet deep in most areas there. After some debate and countering butterflies in multiple family members tummies, we decided to give it a shot. We rented two double tubes and hesitantly jumped in and proceeded to float into a section of the river that stood virtually still. Someone gave us a good shove and we zoomed down some rapids and screamed with delight! We soon realized that we were going to have to do some steering to keep from drifting against rocks and tree limbs along the banks . My husband and I paddled our feet and free arm in the water while holding the two sets of tubes together with our other arms. Several times we bumped against others groups who were tubing along as well. The temperature in Lava Hot Springs was well into the 90’s, unseasonably warm , and the River kept quite busy, bathing and dousing, floating and cascading all the wilted tourists back to life.

About the third time down the River, just when all of us were getting the hang of this new activity, my daughter’s swim shoe accidentally fell off her foot. My husband had been the one jumping off at the exit point and pulling us to the shore, so he felt overly-confident that the river was shallow and slow all the way along. When I yelled at him that her shoe was floating about 10 feet behind us and that it would stay afloat until we got to the exit area this concept bounced right off his forehead and he plunged into the river just before we hit another rapid spot with lots of shallow rocks. I saw the shock and realization spread across his face just as the water splashed off my cheek, and his attention quickly turned from rescuing the shoe, to rescuing himself. I guess his toes and knees dragged across quite a few rocks and boulders as he struggled to gain a hold of the tube with his second hand, the other one never fully letting go during his daring plunge. As I reached down and grabbed the back of his swim shorts to haul his stupid ass back into the tube again, his feet flailed and both his own flip-flops flumped off his feet; one into my grasp and the other out with our daughter’s shoe, which was still floating along a bit behind us.

Just then, we were hurled down into the rapids, my husband barely seated aright again, if not uncomfortable, what with a wedgie up his ass and bleeding toes and knees. Perhaps he felt a bit like a defeated kid, or perhaps he had just swallowed too much water. Whatever it was, he began to yell out to fellow-tubers to grab the floating shoes. A man who sat on the bank did get a hold of my husband’s shoe and my husband urged him to attempt to throw it downriver to us as we were swept rapidly away from him. The man asked if we wanted him to keep it on the bank and I yelled out yes. My husband huffed in exasperation as the man obediently set the shoe down on the bank.

The escapade was all the more ridiculous considering the fact that all up and down the river we had seen singular shoes sitting at slow points along the river where by-standers had fished them out by the dozens during the day. Had he stayed in the tube, either my daughter’s shoe would have reached us moments after we jumped out at the exit point, or someone would have snatched it out and left it beside the river for us to claim.

And in fact, at the exit point some kind soul floated up to us and handed my whimpering and limping husband our daughter’s shoe.