A bath with Magic Soap

“We hit The Confluence tomorrow,” Arlo said as a blast of thunder rolled down the canyon like a tsunami. “Everything changes. Right now the river only drops about a foot per mile, but after The Confluence it goes to about eight feet per mile and by the time we hit Cataract, it’ll be 30 feet per mile. Are you boys ready?”

Arlo refilled our glasses with sangria. Maybe it was the lightning and thunder or maybe it was just the fact that we were only a day away from running a series of rapids with names like Satan’s Gut and Capsize, but I was feeling a little tense.

I nudged the River Buddha with my mug. “What do you think?” I asked.

The River Buddha assumed a lotus position, closed his eyes, and, after a moment or two, said, “I think I must bathe.”

I bathed too. In my sand-filled swim trunks, standing in waist-high water while soaping up with Dr. Bronner’s 18-in-1 hemp lavender Magic Soap. As thunder and lightning flashed and roared all around us. It all seemed so preposterous that, for some reason, I started singing. Talking Heads: “Take me to the river/Drop me in the water/Washing me down, washing me….”

The River Buddha, in his German accent, joined in. We’re laughing, singing, bathing in the rain with Magic Soap.

“This is good,” said the River Buddha and I didn’t know if he meant the electrical storm, our bathing, or the trip itself.

It didn’t matter.

By the time Sarah Jane had dinner ready—thick grilled steaks—the skies had cleared. The sunset was glorious, the food the most delicious I’ve ever enjoyed, and the conversation memorable. Tomorrow we hit The Confluence and the day after that, Cataract Canyon.