Purple Jesus

Once again, the week flew by in the blink of an eye. I spent some time climbing in the gym in an attempt to regain some finger strength, pulled a Tuesday night mission to drop the grease car off in Elkton, Maryland, and spent some quality time with my mountain bike. On Friday night, the real fun started as we began our search for the Purple Jesus.

Grease Car Update...

The mission to Elkton to drop the grease car off was a five hour ordeal. We left at nine o'clock at night and arrived in Elkton at eleven. RC Automotive is one of the only auto shops in the region experienced in grease system conversions. Randy, the head mechanic seemed like a nice guy on the phone, and I am confident he can solve the problem. We drove through dense fog on the way there, which made it difficult to find the shop. We dropped the key in the night box and left the car. The prognosis seems good, but Randy is having a difficult time diagnosing the problem. Hopefully, I can pick it up some time this week.

The Purple Jesus
The phone calls started going out on Thursday night and continued throughout the day on Friday. West Virginia, and western Maryland offered plenty of options, but temperatures were dropping fast with an approaching cold front. We hoped to catch a run on the Big Sandy and Top Yough. Ian, Curt, and Billy contemplated leaving early Friday afternoon and attempting to sneak a run in on the Top Yough at higher water, but decided they would run out of daylight. We decided to wait for John to get off of work, let traffic slow down, and leave around nine o'clock. Ian had to work on Saturday, so he was unable to join us. Curt, Billy, and John showed up at my apartment and we started loading boats.

We could not leave without the ceremonial dinosaur selection, now a tradition since our trip to Tucker County. We each picked our representative dinosaurs, threw our gear in the Jimmy, strapped our boats down, and hit the road. Curt rocked a sweet wool knit hat, handcrafted by grandma Warthog, John sipped on some hot Yerba, Billy gave a classic missing tooth smile, and I proceeded to take over the vast area of land known as the dashboard. On we rolled, putting a bit of road under our belts, but the Jimmy was soon hungry for fuel, so we made a quick pit stop in Gaithersburg. The search for Purple Jesus began.

Purple Jesus is a home brewed concoction of liquid fun, made in mass quantities, stored in large barrels, and dispensed with ease at large parties. We morphed this odd little name for a potent alcoholic brew, into a mythical character of epic proportions. He is the character of epic sojourns, medicine for the soul, the search for truth and destiny. He is the moment, the myth, the man, the legend, and we were on a mission to find him.

We scampered away from the gas station to gather a bit of brew for our camp trip. It was well below freezing in Garret County and there was two inches of snow on the ground. We knew we were in for a cold night. A good bedtime brew makes it a bit easier to fall asleep, but of course you must be sure to take a leak before you turn in for the evening. Wandering outside the tent because the one eyed tiger is getting restless is never a pleasant experience in the frigid cold.

We climbed back in the Jimmy and began to pull out of the gas station when we noticed a man with a red beard headed our way. He motioned like he wanted to speak with us, so we rolled down the window. He asked where we were headed, and we began a conversation about boating. It turned out he was from my hometown. He said he was at a crafts fair selling hats, and in an odd moment of realization, I knew exactly who he was. Though I had never met Ryan Williamson before, he was friends with one of my old girlfriends. Before he could say his name, I told him who he was and where he lived. He was suprised to say the least, and I explained who I was and how I knew about him. We talked for a bit, exchanged numbers, and parted ways in the cold dark night. We drove quietly, considering the anomalous reality in which we played a part. When considered, It is often unearthly, the seemingly connected purpose that lies beneath the random disorganized unfolding of life.

We headed toward Garret County. The air was cold and the sky was full of stars. Living near a large metropolitan area, you miss out on the simple pleasure of a completely dark, wide open night sky, speckled with tiny white lights. Important moments pass when staring into the dark depths of time and space, pondering your place in the world, and the illogicality of what we know. Two hours passed and we rumbled over a large steel bridge in the silent night air. Snow sifted through the air like flour when the wind blew through the trees. Our headlamps illuminated the fog of our breath and our boots sloshed through a cold wet blanket of white. The river flowed beneath us with steely energy and smiled with a wolfish grin. We had arrived.

We headed into the depths of crisp green rhodendenron. Laughter filled the glacial night with warmth and merriment. The trail meandered through the thicket of grizzled trees. Our hands grasped at their gnarled back so we might maintain some semblance of balance. The trail emerged onto flat grey rock. The river water tasted the shoreline in quiet satisfaction. We stopped moving and stared up into the sky. A fiery burst of light skipped across the black page in one last cosmic dance. Our eyes moved down to the tops of the trees and straight out into an abyss of open space. In the dark of night, perched high atop our precarious precipice of stone, as the polar night sky melted into the unceasing drift of river and time, the lastingness of singular moments was veraciously apparent.

We sat quietly for quite a while, until our fingers and toes were numb, and noses singed with the sting of winter's breath. We rambled back up the trail, crunching the crust of ice and snow beneath our boots. John's green truck appeared lonely in the midst of the such a wintry scene. The hinges on the truck doors squeaked as we climbed inside. The engine rattled to a start. The fan belt began to whine. John threw the truck into reverse and we rolled over the steel bridge, the river roaring below. We drove to Snaggy Mountain campground. There was no one else around. The sound of truck tires on gravel filled the woods with a momentary intrusion of noise. The radio played lazily in the background. Deep into the woods we found our campsite.

The cold air quickly filled the cab as we opened the doors. We immediately grabbed our gear and began constructing our tents. Within a few minutes we were inside the warm womb of our sleeping bags. I lit my camp stove and simmered a can of ravioli. It was late, and I was filled with hunger. The savory smell of sauce and pasta filled the tent air. I ate with content and gratitude. I drifted into a peaceful sleep. Perhaps, for a brief moment, we had all found just that, our moment.

Morning arrived. We climbined out of our bags and into the snow and ice. We deconstructed our tents and threw our gear in the truck. We were meeting our friend Scott at eight o'clock. He woke up early and drove. In the parking lot at the put-in, we stumbled upon John Greer, an old time friend of John's. Greer taught John to paddle when he was in high school on the Haw River in North Carolina. John swam and rode through most of the river on top of his boat. Many years later, John is an accomplished paddler with a lot of river experience under his belt. He paddles with confidence and decisive determination. He had not seen Greer in years, and was suprised to find out that he recently moved to the D.C. area. I cooked a can of chicken noodle soup for breakfast, as we pulled boats off the truck, and organized our gear.

We set up shuttled and dragged our boats down the trail to the river. The water level had dropped since the night before. We paddled around to warm our bodies up and then proceeded to head down to Swallow Falls, the precipice above which stood the night before.

We found a cold we dog in the parking lot while we putting our gear on. We did not know his name at the time, but he appeared to have spent the night outside and did not have a collar on. We figured he lived close by, and he did not seem too distressed, so we left him alone. He was a big yellow lab. His eyes were blood shot and he looked like he partied through the night. He followed us down to the river and disappeared.

We got out to scout Swallow Falls, a large medium angled slide around one hundred yards long, ending in a tricky hole at the bottom. Scott ran first. I set up to take some pictures and video. Everyone had decent lines, most a bit too far right, but they worked out fine. Everyone was through besides me and Billy. I was about to get back in my boat when I looked up to see the big yellow lab fall into the river above the falls. He was swept downstream and disappeared inthe chaotic tumult of whitewater. The guys at the bottom attempted to push him ashore, but it was nearly impossible in their boats. The dog was swept through the next chute and was lucky enough to catch an eddy. They pulled him ashore and took him back to the car, so he could get warm. We decided we would have to figure out what to do with the dog when we were finished with the river.

The rest of the run was great. Swallowtail falls is a great eight foot boof. The rest of the river is continuous with great boofs and boulder garden style rapids. We passed Muddy Creek Falls and talked about one day running a few of the slides below when it was a bit warmer. The next big rapid was Suckhole. The giant sieve was full of wood, but there was a fairly large log in one of the runout channels. Everyone enjoyed some good lines.

Several rapids later, I made a mistake, and found myself pinned sideways on a rock. It was not a real big deal, but I had my paddle with pogies, soI could not use my hands to push off of it quickly. I finally rocked myself free but was off balance and did a face plant into the rock behind me, flipped upside down without my paddle. I pulled my skirt and swam. the water was frigid and took my breath away. I swam to shore. My hands were a bit cold, but I was fine. I hopped back into my boat and proceeded to take in the full force of slander in jest. I of course, was now required to drink a booty full of beer.

I decided to opt out of the next few laps because I was cold and wanted to get warm in the truck. We wandered back to the put-in where we found the dog in good spirits in Greer's car. They drove to the general store to see if anyone knew who owned him. Apparently, the dog's name was Jake and he lived right up the road. He also had a reputation for brash and dare devilish behavior. While the guys did another lap, I returned Jake to his home up the road. I had to coerce him out of the warm cab, but he finally agreed and went and laid down on his big dog bed on the front porch.

We loaded up our gear when the guys were done with their third lap and proceeded to head home. We stopped at the Banana Leaf, a great Thai restaurant near Cumberland, to eat. We unanimously chose hot curry with tofu. We felt guilty about dining on a can of Spam that I fried at the take-out. Spam is crazy tasty.

Curt drove, while the rest of us slept. We were in for a long night out on the town. Shannon and Jen met us at my apartment. The girls got ready while I put away gear. The guys showed up around nine o'clock and we played a few games before we hit the town. Oddly, Steven and Curt went to high school together in Roanoke. Curt informed us his true name was 'dirty' Steve. We visited two locales, the Reef, and the venerable institution of Chief Ikes.

We danced the night away at Chief Ikes. Billy sweated a lot again, Curt sweated Billy, and John took his shirt off to show his muscles. Jen liked his muscles. Shannon was happy, but then she was sad. Steve smiled and said everything little thing was gonna' be all right. I fell asleep on a big speaker blasting some serious bass. Billy and I proceeded to get lost in the upper realms of Chief Ikes. Some dude bought Shannon a drink for her birthday. Jen's bra popped out again. John put his shirt back on. Steve spoke spanish to an Armenian girl. Shannon helped a girl make it to McDonalds because that is what good people do. Curt tried to convince the bouncer to start recycling at Chief Ikes. The bouncer genuinely liked the idea. Billy and Curt got lost. The rest of us got a cab home. We all went to bed.