SCENE I: Malden, MA, 6:17 AM 

A corridor in a suburban home. A banister extends most of the way across the room.  There is an alcove and a window on the left end. A low table with a lamp and a telephone is on the right. Various multi-colored polyester clothing is draped over the banister. TOM enters and starts to laboriously pull on a wetsuit. Fade music.

(Phone Rings)

TOM stumbles to the phone, legs stuck in the wetsuit. He answers.

TOM: Hello?

GOD: Just what in my name are you doing?

TOM: Uhh…

GOD: Do you have any idea who this is?

TOM: Umm—

GOD: It’s God, stupid! Listen. Every weekend I check in on you, and up ‘til now I’ve been generally pleased. But this is idiotic! I gave you all this stuff to do, and all this time to do it in. I gave you seasons. Don’t you have any idea what seasons are for? Kid, didn’t you load your kayak into your truck a few minutes ago? Did you notice the two inches of snow on the ground? Wasn’t the door stuck? Wasn’t your tie-down rope frozen? Couldn’t you see your breath? I gave you common sense, with the stipulation that you use it regularly. You are completely ignoring me!

TOM: Uhh, but—

GOD: But what? I know what you’re going to say; I put the rivers there. And I made them run in the spring. No kidding! Ya think the world revolves around you? There are fish and stuff that need the water, too. So the rivers run in the spring. That doesn’t mean you’re supposed to be on them! Listen, I can send you all kind of hints: snow, cold, dead batteries, flat tires. I’ll just let you know one thing… You’re on your own here, kid… Go ahead, paddle the Quaboag. See if I care. Go. Go! Just don’t come crying to me later. Some folks pity fools. I do not!

(Click!)

TOM slowly hangs up and gathers his gear. He exits.

SCENE II: Warren, MA, 9:39 AM

Chuck and I entered a town grocery store/post office/bank/shoe repair/church/gun shop.  What wasn’t it? A restaurant. The lady at the counter said the nearest breakfast could be had ten miles away in East Brookfield. Out of time, we procured some granola bars and escaped to the putin described in the guidebook. Everything was there, the island, the class II rapid. The headstone reading “Lucy Stone Park”, the snow on the ground. But no other paddlers. It was the right time, everything was in order, but where was the rest of the trip? Had they ditched us? We looked at our watch, the guidebook, the empty parking lot, and began to realize we would not be paddling. I figured maybe God was right.

Then, as if on cue, two trucks drove up with boats loaded, and we told the occupants of our predicament. They informed us, “Oh, there’s another putin at the factory.” We would have to ask the author why it wasn’t in the guidebook. Heading downriver to the other putin at a factory below a 20’ dam, we found our group already dressed, and told them about the mixup. We didn’t hold them up, so they were on their way. We drove further down to the takeout, and discovered four guys with three playboats and a C1.

The guys asked if we wanted to join them. “What?” we said, “But you have playboats and all we have are these lowly gaper boats.” They didn’t care. They said our stupid boats could handle this river by themselves, we may as well be in them. Who could argue with that bulletproof logic? Then we asked them where they usually paddle.

“Oh, Hubbard Brook, Roaring Branch, Bull’s Bridge, stuff like that.”

“Oh. I see. We’re dead.” It was really starting to become apparent that God was right. The dude just knows.

So we paddled the river with them and it was really fun. Watching from the eddies, that is.  Those guys spent a lot of time going vertical. Given the freezing temperatures of both the water and the air, I decided there was no way I was going to tempt fate by sticking my bow into a wave. Of course, this conviction lasted about 10 seconds from putting in, and I was soon surfing everything I could find. A soccer ball followed us for part of the way, and we hit it back and forth while spinning down some of the class III rapids. Another installment of Stupid Kayak Tricks.

We eventually ran into our original trip, and told them we had changed our minds, but I think it was apparent. We reached the takeout without much trouble and were soon on our way to Zoar Outdoor, to buy paddle porn and gear. I wanted to see how the heck to get some of those moves that the playboaters were doing. Not that it will matter until July.

SCENE III: Charlemont, MA, 4:22 PM

Zoar Outdoor has a new entrance, still under construction but looking really cool. Bruce Lessels, the owner, and author of our guidebook was there. He asked if we had paddled, and we told him that indeed we had, on the Quaboag. Then we told him about the mixup at the putin, he informed us, “Oh, there’s another putin at the factory.”

To which we asked, “THEN WHY WASN’T IT IN YOUR BOOK?”

Yeah, like we really said that to Bruce Lessels. We obviously aren’t qualified to read his guidebook, much less talk to him in such a tone of voice. Instead, we curtseyed and told him of our plans to go scout a class VI rapid in the guidebook called Tunnel Vision. Did I say “scout”? “Scout” implies that we would ever possibly run it. It was more like “gape at in disbelief”. We weren’t qualified to look at this rapid either.

On the way home, we checked out a new bistro in Greenfield with an eclectic menu of fine Mexican, Southern, and Italian cuisine, served so quickly that you’d swear the food was already prepared. That is, unless you were Chuck, who waited 20 minutes for his fried chicken value meal. The kitchen staff gave him an extra wing for his trouble. I guess they’re still working out the kinks.

So we were on our way home, warm and dry in the car, with boats intact and new paddling videos and magazines. It was March 18 for crying out loud! We discussed whether paddling was becoming some kind of cult addiction. Who cares, it had been a really cool day. God was wrong.

SCENE IV: Malden, MA again, 11:02 PM

A corridor in a suburban home. TOM enters and starts to hang pieces of paddling gear on the banister to eventually dry (they will have to thaw first). The phone rings.

TOM: (picks up phone) Hello?

GOD: You were right, kid. But you’re still an idiot. (Click!)

Fade to black. Close curtain.