Neoprene and Eagle's Wings

We recently returned from Wyoming where we spent time at both Yellowstone National Park and Grand Teton National Park with two of my closest friends.  Yellowstone was crowded with tourists, most of whom were old and ornery and referred to me as sonny, but the park was lovely nonetheless.  The Tetons touched me with their splendor and I found myself giving away more man cards every time my eyes beheld another peak or waterfall.  I am sick and tired of giving away my man cards and I think I’m running out.  But bald eagles are pretty. 

Early in our trip, we decided to spend a day rafting.  We arrived at the rafting company and were immediately told that we had to rent wet suits because the water was incredibly cold due to snowmelt.  I am fine with that because when I get cold I get cranky.  When I get cranky I find myself adorable and awesome but others, namely my wife, do not.  One particular staff member sized us up and handed us wet suits.  Unfortunately, that young lad needs to work on his sizing up skills because the wet suit that he chose for me was a bit snug.  There is nothing quite as unbecoming as a slightly overweight man in over-taut neoprene.  I left absolutely nothing to the imagination.  You fill in the blanks here.  The rest of my party was enjoying their newfound duds but I had to return to the counter for a larger size.  They ran out of the full wet suits so the only type they had left was a neoprene pair of shorts and a tank top.  So much for cold protection being of the utmost importance.  Coupled with the rubber booties they made us wear, I owned the whitewater runway of style.  I am not the most hairless of individuals so I gave some overly tan and overly blonde people from California a clinic in fair skin and underarm hair.  Hey if you’ve got it, own it.  Owned. 

The first half of the trip was spent floating down a calm portion of the Snake River.  Our guide was Carson and he had the most epic mustache of all time.  He could uncurl it and touch the top of his eyebrow.  Much to my wife’s chagrin, I was both inspired and determined to meet this challenge and grow my stupendous and magnificent bit of facial hair.  Unlike the hair on my head, my upper lip hair is thick and lovely.  As we floated down the river, Carson pointed out an Osprey nest and asked us how much we thought it might weigh.  Apparently I am the only person on planet Earth who has never seen on Osprey or an Osprey nest.  I said I thought it might weigh 10 pounds because to me, that is huge for a bird’s nest.  My answer was met by nothing but silence.  Even my wife and my friends refused to make eye contact with me and kind of looked out at the water.  Eventually Carson uttered almost embarrassingly that he’d never had anyone guess that low.  Well excuse the heck out of me.  For those of you who are uneducated like I apparently am, an Osprey nest can weigh up to 1000 pounds. 

After the floating portion of the trip, we pulled out and put our whitewater gear on.  We donned helmets and grabbed paddles and Carson brought along a guide in training from the east coast named Chattooga.  Chattooga was a prankster and as we were walking down to the raft he ran up to me and told me I’d grabbed a left-handed paddle.  He flipped it around and told me that should take care of it.  I told him thank you and walked on to the raft wondering why the rest of my group was once again shaking their head and looking disappointed in me.  Was I supposed to be angry with the Good Samaritan making sure I was properly prepared?  Even Chattooga, in his shaggy haired and patchy bearded glory looked at me incredulously.  

We got started on the river and I forgot how exhilarating it feels to have thousands of cubic feet of whitewater smashing into your face.  The rafting company was not joking, the water was blindingly cold but my chest and upper nether regions were uncompromisingly protected.  When the first wave of water hit us, I felt the icy water enter my suit at the neck and proceed to fire every single nerve as it crawled down my back into my shorts.  We hit several rapids one after the other and again my friends looked at my baffled and I did not understand why.  Afterwards I found out that apparently I like to scream “weeeeee” when going through each rapid.  That was news to me.

We left our raft and regained our regular clothes and spent the rest of the week hiking miles of trails and seeing sites every American should see at least once in their lives.  I gave away many, many man cards but gained Americana rich with grandeur and majesty. 

It’s those bald eagles, man.