So, I write here to keep a log, a journal of sorts, of my life. I spent too long trying to forget the bad things in my life, the painful events, that I started to forget the good things, too. In keeping this site, I end up keeping memories that I've forgotten from the day to day, but can recall once I read the entry again. Many of those forgotten-then-remembered events make me smile.

Then I come across a day like today. A day that should have been fairly simple, straightforward, and uneventful. Instead, the journey from Flagstaff (which itself was fabulous, I'm thinking of buying my next house in Flagstaff it was so great) was a horrible drive, with a verbally abusive driver with whom I managed to have a screaming match with. A screaming match that was stopped only by Andy's hand on my arm, and a soft voice telling me to calm down.

Yeah, so much for not remembering that incident. My mental picture of the whole thing was of a mother tiger defending her young, not that Kris is my young, or needed defending per se. But he did. Gah. Asshole.

If Andy talks to me again after that incident, I'll be surprised. It was a horrible ending to an amazing trip.

We had two hours between the drive down from Flagstaff and our flight, so my mom drove over to the airport to sit and visit with me. I was still incredibly stressed from the drive up, but moms have a way of calming their kids, and my mom is no exception.

After disassembling the rafts, washing them, packing everything and everyone up and eating some remarkably tasty, cold food, all of us paying customers filed into a bus for the bumpy ride out of the Canyon along the Hualapai Reservation roads. I tried to read on the ride out, and was having much success, except that I brought along book four of the Charlie Bone series, when I should have brought book three (so there's a wasted pound x 7.5 miles on my knees).

The ride out was uneventful, ending in Peach Springs, a town that was mentioned several times in Sunk Without a Sound (update: currently it's nominally the governmental center for the Hualapai Reservation). We hopped off the bus at a hotel to exchange into a Canyon Explorations van. At the hotel, I went to the restroom with Bigge. Just before I started leaving, a hotel clerk walked into the bathroom, and saw Bigge washing up in the sink. The clerk walked back out and to a supply closet. As I walked past, she was heading back into the bathroom with a wash rag for Bigge. I was quite impressed with their service at that moment.

The van eventually showed up. We piled in, and off to the nearest ice cream stand we went. It's a tradition from who knows when to go to this particular barber shop - ice cream parlor - Route 66 dive after a rafting trip. It's on the way to Flagstaff from the Havasupai Reservation takeout, and entertaining to boot. The woman behind the counter was endlessly entertaining for most of us, though not for some people on the trip. I was quite humoured when she asked if I needed a straw, and offered a handful of hay to me.

Although I greatly enjoyed my chocolate milkshake for the six minutes it lasted, I have to say that an ice cold glass of milk was what I wanted most when I returned to civilization, rather than the shower most people wanted.

We arrived back at the hotel, grabbed our bags, waited for Chris to come pick us up, then went back to his place to shower up and rest. Chris didn't want to come back into town with us for the pizza and goodbye party we were having, so we three left him at home and drove back into town, missing a turn or two, but actually arriving back at the hotel in usual style: way early.

All washed up and in "normal" clothes, we all met up for pizza and beer to talk about the trip and say our last goodbyes. Susan showed up with her horror story of having to wait in the emergency room for seven hours for a surgery they hadn't bothered to tell her she was waiting for, followed by x-rays of seven pins and two plates in her arm. She was scrambling to find someone to help her drive her car back to Colorado, as she was unable to drive, and wouldn't be for another month.

Eventually we said our goodbyes, and left. There are several people on this trip that I would love to call friends, good people whom I would very much like in my life. I'm fairly certain it won't happen, with the way that life works.

I had hoped to be somewhat transformed by this journey. I dno't know what exactly I was expecting (knowing that expectations are often the cause of much pain from disappointment), but I did think I would be changed in some way.

Maybe the trip needs to be made by myself, instead of in a group, or with friend and spouse. I've been thinking about just heading off on a hike by myself, mostly to see if I can do it, without being completely terrified of being on my own.

I don't know.

I do know that I have no desire to look at that stack of index cards, that list of to-do items I've been carrying with me for the longest time.

It might just be time to throw them all out and start again.

The river time this morning was a silent float. I wasn't so great at the silent part, having to ask Matt about he line not being tied up to the back of the boat, as well as pointing out Michael rowing a boat through a rapid (he did well). Worse, my camera lens kept jamming, so I kept sounding the error "beepbeep beep" down the river.

Gah.

At least Kris had issues with his life jacket that needed to be resolved, and Pat had camera bag issues, both of which needed some talking, too.

Just before we started floating down, Kris broke out with a morning rendition of Kumbaya, which, of course, immediately stuck in my head for the float down.

I kept trying to unstick it, until I realized that, if I succeeded, all my worries would flood my thoughts when it stopped.

Kumbaya didn't seem so bad any longer.

Kris was scandalized this morning that I told Tracy about his and Andy's Water World conversation. Worse, that we talked about my converation with Tracy as Tracy walked by.

Could my knees possibly be more creaky than before? I really need to have them checked out.