My brother Albert said one thing to me about this trip that scared me. It was not the prospect of 500 miles in a 15 foot boat, or the certainty of being wet part of the time and sunburned the rest. I’ve been bitten by bugs before and I have survived meals that do not come with a wine list. I admit that I’m daunted by an upstream row on the Richelieu River, but what really got me was when he said, “After the first five days you’ll feel fine.”
What he meant was that after the first day we would be so sore we’d feel like a cracked pane of glass. I remember that feeling from pre-season football in late August many years ago, and I don’t want to feel like that ever again. Ever. Albert plans to get in his boat with no prior workout, no stretching, not even a two-fisted cocktail hour. I immediately put out the word that I was looking for a used rowing machine and now I have two of them by the pool behind my house in Los Angeles. I plan to work through my soreness fifty feet from a king size bed, not a three-inch inflatable mattress parked by a canal in Canada.
Albert asks who will be Oscar and who Felix on this trip and I’m not afraid to claim Felix. For one thing, I have an image to maintain. While Albert’s boat is green Kevlar, a beautiful boat, mine is a work of art in clear cedar and cherry. It’s like rowing a piece of fine furniture that requires the contents to be neatly settled within the drawers. My ropes will be properly tied, you’ll be able to bounce a quarter off my tent , and I’m not going to lose the one headlamp I’m going to bring. My gear will be sorted into separate bags within bags within bags.
It’s going to be a tough trip, and when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping. I spent two hours in the REI store in Santa Monica where they have all the stuff I could possibly need and the customers are well above average in looks. My focus was dryness; how to stay dry when you are never more than eight inches from water. No Hefty Steelsaks for me, I studied dry bags, dry duffles, everything but dry martinis and came away with a color coordinated collection that I hope will keep my clothes and sleeping gear dry even if it’s floating down the St. Lawrence River. I bought my own tent because Albert and I both snore. Separate sleeping arrangements might keep us from killing each other in the night long about day 14. And anyway, my tent has a Jacuzzi on the second floor.
I also now own a goofy looking hat with a brim and a flap to cover my neck and ears; Beau Geste in a boat. I have a collection of long-sleeved SPF shirts and several pairs of shorts suitable in length for going commando. I bought a pocket-sized gas burner to make coffee in the morning. I’m not rowing a stroke without my coffee. And I’m bringing a corkscrew just out of optimism.
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Colgate men are truly a distinct breed.
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