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Late Night Shots, Stealing Kisses, and Lil' Rook kills our Crash Pad
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
~Søren Kierkegaard~
Day 7.........It's Saturday night, one week before Gauley Fest. I stand outside a random bar in a no name town in southwestern Pennsylvania, deep within the trenches of an epic whitewater road trip. I am overseeing the shenanigans of an assemblage of Wisco Dirt Bag Paddlers as they indulge in the safety of life. Down the street the roar of Ohiopyle Falls can be heard reverberating through the small rivah borough as it calls to paddlers from near and far to drop it's silky smooth lines and stomping boofs. Festivities from within the brown bottle establishment can be heard throughout the succoring scene. Somewhere inside that bar, my little junkie sidekick is frolicking in the shadows, doing things that junkies do. Ahead of us lies 7 straight days of Upper Yough whitewater tranquility, devilish iniquitous behaviors, a disgraceful celebration of debauchery and nefarious deeds, and the soft pillowy goodness of the Gauley Rivah.
I sip the golden elixir of the Rivah Gods........PBR, and softly grin with satisfaction about the moment at hand. The moon rises high over the ridge lines constricting the rivah deep within the valley, and the flow of the mighty Yough passes the time. Little do I know that this night is different from the rest, and is one that will be remembered for sometime to come. Not because of the whitewater tranquility that lay ahead, the iniquitous behaviors about to be exhibited, the succoring scene, the nefarious deeds, or the silky smooth lines, but because this is a personal celebration for me, one in which I am closing the book on one chapter of my life, and opening the book to a new one.
“I could not tell you if I loved you the first moment I saw you, or if it was the second or third or fourth. But I remember the first moment I looked at you walking toward me and realized that somehow the rest of the world seemed to vanish when I was with you.”
~Cassandra Clare~
The safety meetings continued to burn into the night and the gregarious gala of Dirt Bags gathered inside drank away the evening as they told stories of the good ole' days on the rivah. My attention was now preoccupied by a rather captivating blond named Marcie, whom I hoped would continue to carry on the conversation I had surprised myself in starting. Our group strolled back across the parking lot before meeting up with familiar faces at the picnic tables outside the front door of the bar. Greetings commenced and the faction of whitewater addicts grew increasingly larger. I turned to Marcie and again surprised myself by asking her if I could buy her a beer inside. It just felt like the right move to make at the time. I simply did it without thinking about it. The entire evening was very contented. The entire courtship happened naturally.
Marcie replied in her halcyon voice, "sure", and we quietly slipped away from the crowd towards a conveniently open spot for two at the bar. I found this very peculiar seeing that the establishment was crowded for a Saturday night, but considered myself lucky. Marcie and I sat down, chose Magic Hat #9 as our poison, and engaged in the socially ritualistic pattern of getting to know one another; however, on this occasion, as opposed to most, I found her to be very intriguing and I actually listened to what she had to say.........it was strange.
We were not far into the conversation before I realized that Marcie had grown up near the Upper Yough put-in, was about to graduate from John Hopkins in Nuclear Medicine, was open minded about a variety of key concepts in life, and dated a Dirt Bag kayaker for years, making her well seasoned in the foible characteristics of a boating boyfriend. So to review; she was beautiful, intelligent, motivated, open minded, understood a boaters life, and she was capable of putting up with my shit...............JACKPOT!
Marcie and I continued to discuss the key matters of the universe while Dirt Bags increased their drunken intensity around us. While sitting at the bar, we met a local named Lenny. Lenny was a good ole boy, friendly as can be, and was very interested to learn more about the community that had consumed his local watering hole for the evening. I informed Lenny that we planned to camp out, most likely at the Ohiopyle local park, an innocuous oasis for Dirt Bags the world over. The legend states that a local boater purchased the land in the park to give boaters an area to camp in a safe environment. The area contains a children's playground that includes kayaks cemented into the ground, picnic tables, hop scotch, grassy knolls, shadowy oak trees, and rainbows and butterflies all around. Throughout the summer, this naturally beautiful area landlocked within a small conservative community was overrun by Dirt Bag vans, homeless kayaking and rivah guide shelters of all colors and sizes, and an array of gypsy like nomads passing through town on their way to an endless trail of whitewater adventures. Basically, a whitewater refugee camp had been created in the middle of town...............this was a nicely brewed recipe for complete disaster, but we will come back to that topic later in our story.
Lenny once again surprised both Marcie and I by inviting the two of us, as well as the rest of our whitewater entourage, back to his cabin to crash..........again the night just kept falling into place. Lenny seemed like a nice enough guy, so we concluded that he was simply paying a good deed forward, and didn't plan to hack us all up in a Silence of the Lambs style nightmare. We gathered up our thoroughly inebriated crew, which included the Wisco Dirt Bags notorious leader Chicago Mike, and headed for the cars. Upon reaching the DBP tailgate, we discovered a majority of the crew of Wisco Dirt Bags passed out on cots, in their cars, and anywhere they found a comfortable enough place to fall. The scene was rather pathetic, and made one TRUTH very apparent.........Virginia could easily go harder than Wisconsin. After Day 1 there was already a clear favorite..................Virginia: 1 Wisconsin: 0
“If you're not gonna go all the way, why go at all?”
~Joe Namath~
Eventually T-Love, Jamin, Marcie, Lil' Rook, Chicago Mike, and myself all rallied for the short trip to Lenny's cabin. Lenny lived in a quaint little antiquated A Frame house on the outskirts of Ohiopyle. When we arrived, we found an old man, around 70 or 80, chilling within the dwelling. Lenny introduced him as his roommate, and my senses told me that the old man looked familiar; however I couldn't quite place where I knew him, so I let the feeling go. Lil' Rook headed straight to bed after a long day of smack induced naps and junked out nod offs. Lenny broke out the bourbon and shot glasses, and the late night shenanigans commenced deep in the forest of southwestern Pennsylvania.
I am not a liquor drinker......usually. On this night however, I attempted to calm the nerves by downing a shot of witches brew with Marcie and the rest of our boisterous crowd. I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I had no game. I assumed the whiskey would succor my apprehensions and augment my self-confidence...........either that or it would simply allow both of us to be shit faced drunk for the remainder of the night. After the first round of shots we lost Chicago Mike, who demonstrated the proper way to pass out on a couch while sitting up..................those Wisco kids sure did talk a much bigger game than they brought. (a theme that seemed to be reoccurring throughout the trip) Lenny quickly moved us on to Round 2 of the whiskey, and upon doing so, my mind awoke to the familiarity of Lenny's ole' school roommate............the bus driver!!!! The old man was the legendary bus driver that shuttled everyone out of the Lower Yough at the end of every trip. Each whitewater paddler descending the Lower Yough within the last 30 years had been assisted in escaping the gorge by our new drinking buddy. This called for a celebration.............one more round of shots.
As the night wore on I continued to become more and more brazen in my flirtatious nature with Marcie. Eventually we snuck away to the back porch where I was able to succeed in stealing a kiss. While doing so, Marcie gently pushed me away, smiled, and shook her head. "You are way too cute for me to be kissing" she softly stated, followed by a classic Marcie giggle. How was I suppose to respond to that? She kissed me once more and then took my hand and led me back inside. At this point the liquor began to take hold and the late night memories faded away with thousands of late night memories that have been forever suppressed by the fog of whisky. Marcie and I ended up falling asleep together in the confines of one of Lenny's random backrooms that Lenny was nice enough to point out to me................unknowingly, it was the first of many nights Marcie and I would fall asleep together.
“That's the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen.”
~Charles Bukowski~
Day 8.................Hangover Sunday. The fog of Sunday morning lingered throughout Lenny's cabin as beams of sun began to creep into the crepuscule through the cracks of the shrouded windows of the house. Beds and couches throughout the humble abode were filled with lifeless bodies wounded from the previous nights whisky. Everywhere signs of Dirt Bag shenanigans, safety meetings, rounds of shots, and late night carousing revealed the true character of an in depth whitewater journey. The Saturday night welcoming party was a success and the week of whitewater was underway with a slow and painful start to an epic 7 days of boating.
The pounding headache that I unfortunately possessed reminded me of why I am a man of safety and not whisky. My cephalalgia was remedied by the accompaniment of a sweet, softly spoken blond curled up tightly next to me. Due to this fortunate situation, I was in no rush to hop out of bed and hit the rivah. Marcie and I remained hidden away, quietly sleeping late into the morning..............I had no idea what everyone else was doing, and I didn't care.
Eventually we arose to a house full of activity and rallying Dirt Bags. Lenny was still knocking out life, cooking breakfast and cleaning up from the previous nights liquor adventures. Dirt Baggin' is an art form that is only possible due to the friendly nature and welcoming presence of people like Lenny. I will forever be grateful to all of those who have housed and fed Dirt Bags throughout the years, and I look forward to paying the process forward to future generations of Dirt Bags yet to come. Thank you Lenny for your kind and caring hospitality.
Our crew eventually rallied and returned to the bar for a long and lazy lunch. The Wisco kids who had passed out in the parking lot the night before were already planning logistics and deliberating shuttle options for a Sunday afternoon run down the Class III Lower Yough. Based on the insistent presence of a massive headache, Class III sounded perfectly fine to me. And a slow and lazy lunch sounded just as nice.
Marcie arrived at the party the night before with T-Love and Jamin, so that now made T-Love and Jamin my two favorite Dirt Bags. I planned to make a late afternoon run with T-Love, Jamin, Lil' Rook, and T-Love's friends Matt and Jami, who had yet to arrive. This situation gave me plenty of time to spend with Marcie before she left for Accident, Maryland to attend her niece's birthday party. Marcie and I spent a majority of the afternoon sneaking away to the empty guide shack next to the bar so that I could steal one more kiss before she left. The afternoon was radiant and mild, with nothing on the agenda but pre rivah lagers and Bloody Mary's to cure the withdrawals of whisky. The first weekend of our Dirt Bag journey ended up yielding a rather relaxing rest period for us all....................which was a convenient occurrence, because we were going to need it. After stealing one final kiss, Marcie wrote her number in my journal in a swooping cursive style, and in a soft spoken voice she smiled and told me she would see me soon. Then she exited our Dirt Bag world as quietly as she entered the night before.
“And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness.”
~Sylvia Plath~
The remainder of our team arrived on the scene mid afternoon. Matt and Jami are everyones most beloved married couple. They are both exceptional human beings, possess colorful personalities, love the outdoors, and live very healthy and active lifestyles. The pair were a quality addition to the team of whitewater addicts. Our group rallied after one more round of afternoon beers, and Matt and I set shuttle for a very late afternoon Lower Yough run. I followed him to the take out in order to drop a car off and then give him a ride back to the top. I find the issue of setting shuttle to be highly amusing when discussing the topic with the non boating community. First, it never dawns on a non boater that a shuttle needs to be set to run any rivah, and second, once they do realize the need for shuttle, the concept is usually too complex for people to grasp. Fact is, shuttle is a necessary evil on every rivah in every town throughout the whitewater world. Sometimes it is by car, sometimes by bike, sometimes by foot, but no matter what, if you want to run whitewater you need to get use to running shuttle.
During my solo car ride to the bottom of the gorge I noticed Lil' Rook had forgotten the bag that she had been clutching next to her side for a majority of the first week. I realized the tight grasp she kept on the bag revealed the location of her favorite little friend heroin. According to many of the girls on our trip, it also gave her away as a closet case heroin addict........apparently girls have intuition that men don't have. To this point in the trip I made the decision to leave her drug problem alone, and simply try and expose her to as much whitewater as possible. I also bluntly expressed my opinion directly to her about the situation, and she was less than enthused about my viewpoint..........tough shit.
As I descended the mountain behind Matts truck, curiosity began to eat away at my mind. Eventually I convinced myself that I needed to look in the bag in order to understand what was in my vehicle while traveling through three states. I did not feel comfortable about the decision, but my intuition kept telling me that Lil Rook was a dissimulating, prevaricating individual. I had bluntly and straightforwardly asked her multiple times if their was heroin in the car, and she had responded "no.".................so I looked anyway.
Tucked away into a side pocket of her purse was a lighter, aluminum foil, four syringe's, and a wad of paper towels with a wrapped up piece of wax paper inside. Tightly wrapped up in a plastic baggie inside the wax paper was a ball of whitish yellow powder about the size of half an eighth of safety gear. Although I had zero experience with heroin, I was knowledgeable enough to know that she was possessing a bit more than a "small amount" of the Mexican Brown. Matt parked the car and organized a bit of gear before walking towards my vehicle. While he did I weighed my options about how to confront the situation.
- Option #1: Dump all of her gear into the rivah and then refuse to allow her to go home for more, forcing her to detox on the road with only the Subutex she supposedly still had left, as well as endless amounts of whitewater to occupy her withdrawing mind.
- Potential Outcome to Option #1: Ugly as shit!..........I concluded that she would most likely kill me in my sleep if I proceeded forward with Option #1. This would also violate Golden Rule #3 - Nobody dies.
- Option #2: Call her father and send her junkie ass home.
- Potential Outcome to Option #2: She returns home and stays hooked on heroin while playing make believe on Facecrack with all of the other lonely DBP souls........I concluded this would do nothing but drive her away from whitewater and deeper into her drug addiction.
- Option #3: Take a play out of the Baby Boomer generation and force her to do the same thing your parents did when they caught you smoking cigarettes...........smoke the entire pack in front of them. In this case, I could force her to ingest all the heroin at once to teach her a lesson.
- Potential Outcome to Option #3: Certain Death!...............and the last thing I needed on my plate was a dead junkie. Plus it broke Golden Rule #3 - Nobody dies.
Obviously I was at somewhat of a loss about how to handle the situation (trust me when I say that you don't want to know what Option #4 was). I noticed Matt walking toward the car and felt he appeared to be a well balanced, knowledgeable guy. Although I had met him no more than two hours before, I figured I would discuss the situation with him on the ride back to the put-in. In hind sight there is no telling what he must have been thinking on the car ride up the mountain as I explained to him that I had been riding through three states with a heroin junkie and he was now sitting in a car that possessed a felony amount of hard drugs no more than six inches from either of us......poor guy never saw it coming. In all honesty, I don't even remember the advice Matt gave me, but I am sure it was wise.
Once we returned to the put in we jammed out the rivah quickly to beat the fading sun light. Lil' Rook styled the run in a Duckie, a decision she quickly made after her wake up call from The Loop the previous day........sobriety first, then kayaking. That is my advice to Lil Rook if she ever decides to jump into the sport of hard boating again. (which is doubtful) The rivah run was a delightful end to the opening weekend of whitewater, and a perfect way to shake off the effects of a nasty hangover. We reached the take out well after dark. It was so late that we worried we had missed the last shuttle. However, it was not long after setting my boat down in the grass to assess the situation that we heard the clunky old bus rattling down the mountain to rescue us from the darkening depths of the Lower Yough Gorge.
“There is nothing worse for the lying soul than the mirror of reality.”
~Steve Maraboli~
After our LY run the entire rivah crew decided to head back to the bar in Ohiopyle for food and drinks. Most of the DBP crew joined us for the occasion and a lively dinner party ensued throughout the evening. Before dinner began Jami invited Lil' Rook and I to travel back to their place with T-Love and Jamin and crash for the night. Based on the fact that the invite came with a hot tub, shower, a bed, and good people attached to it, I was more than stoked about the invitation. Dinner slowly transitioned into rounds of beers and the evening was sumptuous.
After dinner I noticed that Lil Rook and her favorite bag were both missing from her seat. I asked Mackenzie if she would check the bathroom to see if Lil Rook was in there. When Mackenzie returned she confirmed that she was in fact in the stall and it was obvious she was NOT using the stall for it's intended purpose. Jami went to the restroom a short time later, along with two women from another table, and all three exited the bathroom with the same conclusion. Basically the entire restaurant knew Lil Rook was shooting up within a matter of minutes.
When Lil' Rook exited the restroom, it only took one look at her before it was apparent that she was high as a kite. I ignored the situation, but I could see the concern in Mackenzie's eyes from what she had seen. No one was comfortable with the presence of Lil' Rook or her habit. Jami approached me and pulled me aside to speak with me. She stated that she had enjoyed running the rivah with us and from what she could see Lil Rook was a delightful person, but based on what Jami had observed in the restroom there was no way she could allow us to stay at her house. I explained that I more than understood and apologized incessantly for the situation. Regardless of the fact that I had zero control over what was happening, I was still extremely embarrassed.
It was about this time that Jami pointed out something to me that had never crossed my mind. She explained that some people we encountered on my trip may observe me as being guilty of a heroin addiction myself based on the fact that I was tolerating an addict tagging along with me. Basically, Jami was saying that I may be viewed as being guilty by association.............it had never dawned on me before because I had never looked at myself as being capable of a heroin addiction. However, for someone who did not know me, I could easily understand how they may arrive at that first impressionistic misconception. Based on this thought process, I immediately abandoned the plan to "save" Lil Rook and quickly began to contrive a way to in fact "get rid" of Lil Rook. And it is very easy to get rid of a heroin addict..............simply take away their heroin.
It was about this time that Jami pointed out something to me that had never crossed my mind. She explained that some people we encountered on my trip may observe me as being guilty of a heroin addiction myself based on the fact that I was tolerating an addict tagging along with me. Basically, Jami was saying that I may be viewed as being guilty by association.............it had never dawned on me before because I had never looked at myself as being capable of a heroin addiction. However, for someone who did not know me, I could easily understand how they may arrive at that first impressionistic misconception. Based on this thought process, I immediately abandoned the plan to "save" Lil Rook and quickly began to contrive a way to in fact "get rid" of Lil Rook. And it is very easy to get rid of a heroin addict..............simply take away their heroin.
~William Shakespeare~
The night came to an end and the crew split up. T-Love, Jamin, Matt, and Jami all said their goodbyes and headed toward Deep Creek, Maryland while myself, Lil Rook, and the Wisco DB's remained in Ohiopyle. Lil Rook was extremely confused when Jami and Matt said goodbye. After all, she had been told we were heading back to Deep Creek for the night with them. So after their departure I was left to explain to Lil Rook that we were stuck sleeping in a public park in Ohiopyle because the entire restaurant had been notified that she was shooting up in the stall. The situation had even been reported to the owner of the bar, who luckily enough was a friend of our group.
I began the discussion by again asking Lil Rook if she was in possession of any heroin. I figured I would give her the chance to begin the conversation with an honest remark. She was still unaware that I had searched her bag during the shuttle ride, and I assumed she took me for a fool. So I asked her if she was carrying anything. She responded very sternly, "NO!"............................................what the fuck was I suppose to do? She was obviously lying directly to my face. If I explained to her why we were not staying with Jami and Matt it would simply be calling her out for her perpetual string of bull shit stories and would escalate the situation even further. Eventually I simply gave up and explained to her what everyone in the bar had observed and then clued her in to the fact that she was not fooling anyone.....................her response was simply astounding.
She reciprocated with complete solemnity that everyone in the bar was in fact lying, and that they didn't know her and had no right to be judging her. She denied that any of it happened, elucidated herself as the victim, and then became angry at me for confronting her about such an outlandish accusation.............................................yea, that's fair. What a fucking junkie bitch! I was astonished by how far she was willing to take the lie. I have been involved in some massive lies in my life, obviously, but I had in fact never seen anything to this extreme...............at least not from this perspective.
Eventually my exhaustion overshadowed my determination and I gave up and went to bed, leaving Lil' Rook to pass out in the car for the night. As I lay under the giant hardwood trees of Ohiopyle park falling asleep that night, I thought about the situation that had developed, as well as the false perception that Lil Rook was trapped in. Her chamber of lies was no different than the one I had been trapped in not long before. I was meant to have the conversation that I had with Lil Rook and bear witness to the lies she told me. Why? Because it allowed me to see how pathetic I myself had been during my affair. Witnessing Lil Rook lie to me was no different then the thousands of lies I had told my friends, my family, and most of the people I had loved throughout my marriage. I now know how they all felt, and I do not blame any of them for the way they chose to deal with the situation. Lil Rook had allowed me to see the TRUE ugliness that existed within my own soul.................that was her purpose for being there, and that is why her situation reminded me so much of my relationship with The Fourteenth Street Whore. The irony of life is almost laughable and time is in fact a flat circle................but eventually we all must learn from our mistakes. For me, that time was now.
~Lauren Myracle~
I know what you are thinking.............heroin sucks. Where is the whitewater? I don't blame you for the question. I can assure you it's coming, because we are about to drop four straight days of Upper Yough excellence, bear witness to extraordinary Nationals beat downs and my own personal Meat Clever WALLACING, participate in a giant drunken flotilla, and continue to push the boundaries of those three golden rules.
See ya on the rivah..........hopefully NOT hanging out with the Mexican Brown. PEACE
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