A River Adventure
By Howard W. Gabriel III

I must have been about 14 at the time. My dad and I were a couple of happy fellows, about to spend the morning of his first vacation day floating down the Alexander Valley River on rubber rats. Just the two of us!
We had paid attention to careful planning. My grandmother let us out of her car at 7:55 a.m. and five minutes later we were in the morning water. Dad recalled from his childhood days that from this particular starting point it was about 8 miles to the town of Santa Rosa. My grandmother was to pick us up at the outskirts of town a 1:00 p.m., even though we knew we would be there by noon.
After an hour or so my dad discovered that our little supply bag had somehow unhooked—lost was our suntan lotion. Oh well, the temperature never got more than 75-80 degrees that time of the year. Yet, as the river’s forested sides came and left the hotter it seemed. It made 100+ that day.
After 3 hours or so Dad and I asked some folks how far from town we were and what time it was. We were getting so hungry—our sandwich bag which was wrapped in waterproof material had become soggy. Anyhow, the people spoke from high above the river. “Eight miles!” We were astounded. Had we simply traveled in circles? The scenery did seem to repeat itself.
We then decided to hurry our paces, but it was at this point that the current seemed to have disappeared. We raced one another for what seemed to be hours. Legs and arms weighed too much so we had to stop now and then.
My dad was red; he had not worn anything but a small bathing suit. I had worn a t-shirt and long cut-offs.
I think the only way we kept going (whatever happened to the rushing current?) was by getting mad at each other.
At 5:00 p.m. we made it to the right spot. My grandmother was in a panic. She was about to call the police.
The river had actually stretched and curved 24 miles—16 more than via the road.
Dad suffered second and third degree burns all over his body. He went through dozens of layers of skin, day after day. I can still see my father as he was the remainder of his vacation lumbering along streets, in and out of doors, up and down steps—stiff arms and legs like a scarecrow in a farmer’s field.