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It turns out that we're so awesome that we outpaced the other 19 rafts in our group through the first set of rapids, and so we had to pull over at one point and wait for them in some shallows. Mehve volunteered to keep us in tight and secure in the shrubbery, but the force of the mighty Ocoee was just too damn much for him...
And he kind of sort of somehow drifted away from us. It was terrifying! I was STILL terrified after I woke up from my twenty minute nap and found that he had slipped another 2 feet away from our raft!
Anyway, Mehve's swim of death looked like fun, and when I asked Cooter if I could jump in too, he looked at me as if he were skimming through the insurance papers I had to sign before getting on the raft, and said, "Sure! Knock yourself out! Please!"
There was about a half-mile portion of the river in which the water was about 30 feet deep and super calm. We floated outside the boat for about 20 minutes all told. The water was fairly warm and very pleasant, and if it wasn't for 5 other rafters getting dragged under by the beaversharks in the area — kicking and screaming and making such a goddamn fuss — it would have been the ultimate serene moment.
I of course didn't listen to Cooter when he suddenly stopped snoring and said, "Holy shit! Back in the raft! BACK IN THE RAFT! The 'Widow-Maker' rapids are right up ahead! Oh shit! We're off course! We're all gonna die!" But I did get a few extra minutes of serenity before having my jambrones cracked against the rocks like ice-cubes in a blender. Ahhhhh, one of the most peaceful moments of my life immediately followed by one of the most EXPLODINGLY terrible.
I'll never be able to have children, but at least I got out of paddling for a little while.
On the last major set of rapids we hit, one of us was allowed to "Ride the Bull," as Cooter put it. This apparently meant hanging over the front of the raft while shouting out "I'm the KING OF THE WORLD! WOOOOOOOO!" while wave upon wave of muddy water crashed in the person's face.
Even after we lost Mehve on the Bull, and despite the fact that Cooter kept trying to nudge me into trying it, Good Lenin showed the mighty river who was boss... Mainly the river.
After we got out of the water and were bussed back to the Rolling Thunder River Rafting Company HQ where we all changed into some drier clothes, and then realized that none of us had eaten lunch that day, and that it had been about 24 hours since I had anything more than a Listerine Breath Strip myself. So we drove into town and found a bar and grill that served glorious beer. Oh, and burgers. Though what shocked us most was that Mehve had somehow beaten us to the place despite being dead!
It turns out that a possum hunter was in the area when Mehve lost to "the Bull," and apparently rescued him and performed about an hour of CPR on him... Over and over again. Mehve said he didn't mind since Bubba Barth saved his life, and he seemed to have the sweet, sweet breath of baby puppies.
Those possum burgers were soooooo good. I don't care if they didn't clean out the beasties' intestines before grinding them up, they were just what we needed after that day of hell.
Anyway, that was pretty much it. After we ate and I got stuck with the bill we all took off to where we were from.
When I got home from the white water rafting though, I ran over to my local Blockbuster only to find out that Up The Creek was never released onto DVD or Blu-ray (what a goddamn crime!), but glory be to thepiratebay.org! I downloaded that puppy and watched the hell out of it that very night. And let me tell you, of all the trips and experiences I've had in life wherein I would then watch a big Hollywood movie to see just how realistic it is compared to the actual event or place, Up The Creek was the most nail-on-the-head production ever! Riding the rapids with Cooter was exactly like an 80s teen sex romp! God I love that flick!
So that's my Triple Vacation tale. The longer you stretch out good times the better they become; they never get boring if you do them right. So next time, fuckers, do it right. The ONLY thing I regret is after I told some other friends about the cruise and the lack of single women, mi amiga Molly asked me, "Soooo, why didn't you guys just go on a 'singles' cruise'?" All I could respond with was, "..........They have those?" I really need to do more research before I do big things: like check time zones, availability of hot women, and if Mehve doesn't mind 8-hour karaoke drives...
Oh yeah, and the Rolling Thunder River Company now has a warning on their website about the difference between EST and CST. I've left my mark on this world.
Notes From the Editor: Whoopdy-doo.
Yay, the Rossman went on a cruise again. Woo-hoo, he went on a rolley coaster again. Zhazha, he got in a raft... So this shit is exciting? Do you all know just how much time he put into this ridiculous page? All the pictures he Photoshopped, the writing, the forcing me to read it all and fix it up (and oh yeah, I put in more work than he did what with him originally spelling "island" with two "t"s and a "2"). But what hurts the most is that the prostitute that he paid me with to do this for him had a penis. And her name was Phil. And I didn't notice the scrotum tucked between her legs until the 2nd hour. But we already crossed into the second hour mark and so kicking her out at that time would have just been a waste of $40.
