mad in pursuit journal
Rochester finally managed to combine warm, sunny and weekend. Seeking an antidote for my anxious obsessions, I goaded J. into renting a canoe. It's been way too long since we've done anything for pure fun and even longer since anything that could be called adventure.
The Irondequoit Creek, near our house, flows north into a Lake Ontario bay. We took advantage of a service that drops you off at a park with a canoe and lets you float to its dock on the bay, 4 miles away.
Ah, floating. A mindless way to watch suburbs turn into wetlands and to get through the park without people's gigantic dogs sniffing at your crotch.
But I'd forgotten that with floating comes steering. I was never a very adept paddler and it's been two years since I've been in a canoe. I took the stern and J. took the helm. My muscle to his savvy. Fortunately, he is a patient man. "Back paddle. Back paddle. BACK PADDLE." Crash. Oh, yeah, back paddling. I'd sort of forgotten.
The boat guy said it would take maybe 3 hours to get up to the bay. I began to worry that if we had to careen from bank to bank for 4 miles we might be on the water all day. So I paid attention to my teacher and improved my steering. Two-and-a-half hours later we landed at the boat dock.
Our shoulders will be sore tomorrow, but we have the first summer adventure under our belts.