I was just going with flow. It was very relaxing, and yet still had element of unpredictability, and thus adventure.

There were wild strawberries at every stop, and when I stopped for night I feasted on them until rain came. It rained all night, but I stayed dry in my garbage bag bivy sack (my dirtbagging shelter), with a small umbrella over my head. A large white-tail deer almost stepped on me in middle of night, and scared me half to death with his snorting. In morning it was still raining.

It wasn't just raining, it was a wicked thunderstorm. One thing about a bivy sack is that you don't have enough space to keep yourself entertained. So, storm or not, it was time to get moving. I bundled up my few things, stepped into cold river, and sat in tube.

I drifted by beautiful houses, sitting there in a heavy sweater, with my umbrella over my head. The morning light was late because of storm. People looked up from their coffee to see me in a flash of lightning. I waved and floated on.

Closer to home, I had a great time slogging through knee-deep mud in a portage around a dam. It was almost like quicksand. I worked my way free, and took a trail through rainy woods along river. By noon I was safely home and wondering if it was too early for a beer. That's dirtbagging.

The water, however, wasn't shallow. Once girls had resurfaced, and climbed up sandy bank of river, we waved goodbye. The trail took them to and from river on their way to car.

The next time we saw them, Leslie was hiking in her wet bra and panties. This part of adventure story was crucial to recruiting other young males in future. The trail went into forest again, and girls didn't see us for thirty minutes.

Sometimes Adventure Involves Running

Actually, they saw raft first, floating quietly down river by itself. Soon they saw Roland and I, running along opposite side, trying to catch up. This was because of a tree that stuck out from bank, low to water.

We were unable to avoid it, despite our excellent rafting skills, but we thought we could jump over it as raft passed underneath. It seemed like a reasonable plan at time. It didn't seem so reasonable when Roland was pushing my face into sicks in tree while climbing over me to get to shore.

The raft went on, not noticing our absence. We ran through swamp and woods, pretending this was part of plan when girls saw us. The raft came near riverbank just as we caught up to it. We leapt for it, and we were back in control. More or less.

"How do we get off?" Roland asked, when we were near car. We decided that we just had to get close to shore and jump. It seemed like a good idea. Roland was still hanging over river from a tree when I started up big hill to car. Tom Sawyer Days went a little smoother after this first one.

Sometimes Adventure Involves Being Pointed At

After pedaling thirty miles and hauling logs for hours, I was tired, but satisfied. It was best raft yet, and I was soon rafting down river, under Baxter Bridge, and into National Forest. I noticed immediately that these rafts float better with only one person on them. There was just one small group of houses to pass before a long uninhabited stretch. My bicycle stood proudly in center of raft, tied in place, with backpack on handlebars. The first guy to see me yelled hello, and pointed me out to his wife. The second didn't know what to say. The Manistee is not a well-traveled river, especially not by bicyclists. A few minutes later I was past houses. Around next bend, a whitetail deer saw me and backed off through cattails.

I floated for hours. Apparently my previous river rafting experience was paying off, because I managed to miss trees, rocks, riverbanks, and to stay dry. I was even able to sit down and soak up sun for a minute or two at a time. The latter was always interrupted, of course, by necessity to jump up and use pole to avoid something.

In evening, I stopped, disassembled raft, and began pushing my bicycle through woods. A mile later I found a trail, and started pedalling. A mile after that I met two guys on a two-track, with there truck. The ice-cold beer they gave me made them instant friends, so I told them that, no, I wasn't out bicycling. I was river rafting. Then they weren't sure they wanted a new friend, so I traveled on.

Sixty miles of bicycling, miles of pushing bike through woods, three hours of log-hauling, and five hours of rafting, all in one day, seemed like a worthy goal, so I decided to just head for home. And mosquitos were worse than I had anticipated.

Sometime after dark I rolled into driveway, dropped bike, and stumbled into house. I took a shower and answered phone. It was time to go dancing.