canoe-dling

At a small lake not far from Alexa's - decided to take a bike ride to give her a break from playing hostess. Plus I needed some alone time to recharge, to think, to write. Had planned on getting up early this morning and writing, but my old friend insomnia stopped by and kept me up 'til the wee hours. So much for my hope that a change of scenery might help.

did I mention how amazing the scenery is here? Again, I'm faced with the question, "Why is it again I don't live here?" Add to that the amazing bicycle paths and lanes they have here and I truly have to question what holds me in Ohio - other than family, friends, an amazing church community, a house payment, a great job...OK, so sacrifices would have to be made...

Took my first trip to the great state of Wyoming. Went with Ryan, Alexa, Marcus and Ryan's friend Ethan and Ethan's mom and dad Bob and Carel. We drove up Friday night and set up camp in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, but ended up being a beautiful campsite right by the North Platte River. We woke up early and dropped off one of the cars at Pick Bridge, then drove through Saratoga up to Treasure Island, about 20 miles up river.

WARNING: This next part of the story will give you a terrifying look into how my brain works. Enter at your own risk.

Since there were seven of us and only three canoes, it meant one canoe would have three people. So Ryan, Alexa and I went in their new canoe (The Pelican), with Alexa in front, Ryan steering and me in the middle. We pushed off into the current went about one canoe length and promptly flipped the canoe. Luckily, it was still shallow, so we drained the canoe, got everything bakc in and headed off. Two canoe lengths later we flipped again, this time spilling our lunch into the North Platte, plastic wrapped sandwiches and Clif bars doing a much better job at navigating the current than we had so far. I quickly deduced it was my fault we had flipped and even suggested perhaps it would be better if I stayed behind. I was after all the stranger here. And let's be honest - my added weight significantly increased the difficulty. Luckily, none of the acknowledged my suggestion and after some shifting around, I ended up sitting in the middle of Bob and Carel's canoe.

Now if you've ever been canoing, you know the center seat is either the best seat or the worst. If you like sitting back, doing nothing, enjoying the view, it's great. Unfortunately, I was looking for a little more than that. So while I sat there, doing nothing, my brain, as it tends to do sometimes, began to convince me I had ruined everyone's day, that I'd spoiled a beautiful day of canoing because I couldn't manage to stay in the boat. And sitting there, completely useless, seemed to me at the moment a metaphor for my life: fat, unbalanced, the dead weight, the proverbial third wheel. As always, I knew none of this was true - I'd been canoing and was rather good at it. But I felt it was true, and at that moment, nothing else mattered.

But a teh sun slid higher in the sky and the river slipped beneath us, the beauty and serenity of the landscape washed away my darkness. I climbed out of myself and became lost in God's grandeur breathing all around me. The ripple of the river. The languid flight of a pelican. The swallows swooping over the surface of the river. Bald eagles perched atop steely cliffs. This is what nature does - it draw us out of ourselves, our endless ponderings and reminds us we are but a part of a magnificent whole. It's hard to stare at your navel with a mountain looming over you.

After a couple hours on the river, we switched seating arrangements and I ended up in the front of Ethan's canoe. And suddenly my body remembered what it was doing and soon we were cruising down the river, pointing out bucks on the bank, drifting beneath an impossibly blue sky, laughing as Ryan and Marcus hit a tree and flipped their canoe. I even proved an excellent asset in the many water battles that marked the last half of our trip. And when we stopped on the shore and Ethan, the veteran of many a canoe trip, shook my hand and praised my canoing skills, the small, ugly voice that had haunted me in the morning, threw up his hands in disgust and evaporated in the Wyoming sun.