When my nephew, Wes, bought some kayaks and brought them down to the farm I was well, horrified. I watch TV. I've seen what kayaks can do. They're death traps, the kayaks...
I had visions of myself (or people I love) with one of those things cinched tightly around their waist and promptly flipping upside down in the water.
Trapped. Helpless. Floundering.
But I was wrong. They're not awful. These are the not the kind that you cinch around your waist with a "skirt", and you don't really need a crash helmet unless of course, you plan to propel yourself into some dead trees.
The Chief and my oldest son Ben decided to take them out for a spin Saturday evening. They drove down the hill with the kayaks in the back of the truck - I told them I'd drive The Mule down in a "minute or two" to sit with Weegie and watch them. I had some cleaning to do in the kitchen.
By the time I finished my "cleaning", or more accurately, when I finished watching an titillating re-run of Cupcake Wars, and drove down the hill, they were already well across the lake
No Weegie on shore..
Anyway, apparently when they put the kayaks in, The Weege refused to be left behind and swam out so far that The Chief had no other option than to pull him into the kayak.
They continue to shun me.
The Chief politely encouraged Weegie's disembarktion (?) by 'gently' tilting the kayak.
"Next time Ben, I get that kayak to myself. You ride with The Chief. He wouldn't let me paddle".
The Weege. Adventurer. Outdoorsman. Kayaker.
Until next time,