I was working in this rot gut club in Houston Texas and there was this white water rafting trip I read about and I said I was going. Hoping, sort of, someone, anyone I actually knew, would go with.
And people laughed at me.
Laughed. At. Me.
I said, Why are you laughing?
And a guy said, Well Max, look at you.
And I said, What?
And he said, Max, you have French tips.
Like that was valid.
And I said, Well fuck you guys, I am going by my own self then.
[I swore a lot back then.]
[Okay I still swear a lot.]
They did not believe me.
But my bisexually confused but generally up for a good time friend Melissa said, Max if you are really going, I will go with. So we loaded up on camping gear and her sixty year old [male sugar daddy] lover gave us firearms he insisted we take because white water rafting was “the wilds” and off we went.
It rained pretty hard on the Rio Grande that weekend. The waters rose so fast we had to get up at 1 am to move the tent waters were coming up the banks that fast they were going to drag the tent and anyone in it into the river and we had already moved it once. Fish were out cold floating bottom up they were coming over a dam somewhere far away hard enough to knock them out cold. And dam people had to open the dam some just to release pressure to stop it breaking. Which was more water.
And we rafted.
And that river roared.
We rescued five rafts that wrapped on rocks. And one kayaker.
Nobody at the bar laughed at me after that trip.
I guess that flood we rafted made the news.