Aunt Susan made us both call our mothers to reassure them we were still alive, and then we were treated to hot coffee and donuts while we made some other calls and sorted out our next few days of lodging from the couch. Uncle Dick delivered us (and our clean laundry!) back to the canoe and we pushed off under blissfully clear skies and full sun.
To our credit, we paddled pretty darn hard for the first ten minutes or so while our hosts watched us from the bridge (we want to look legit, after all) but then we did more or less the bare minimum of work for the rest of the day given that we were only paddling into Lambertville- a pleasant 25 mile day.
Just before lunch, we pulled up under the bridge in Frenchtown, NJ and I walked into town to find us river beers while Steve reclined in the boat to work on his “avocado tan”. I had a nice stroll, made friends with the baristas at the local coffee shop (thanks again for the ice water and the display of magic tricks!) and returned to the boat with spicy snacks and a couple of icy cold tall boys.
As miserable as the East and West Branches had been, I still hadn’t had any complaints (I’m big into type II fun) but ye gods, this was DELIGHTFUL. Sitting in a boat in the full sun in an ugly straw hat, feet kicked up on the gunwales, nursing a cold beer while lazily coasting downstream? That’s what normal people think of when they plan a canoe trip.
At one point we hit a small ledge, but casually ran the gap without me even dipping my paddle in the water (or putting down my beer). We realized shortly after that we had just rolled over the Lumberville Dam- supposedly one of the more intense sections of rapids- without getting a single drop of water in the boat. Or, you know, doing anything remotely physical. Good job, us!
We hit Lambertville around 4pm, sat around at the boat launch arguing about the tree species of central New Jersey for a while, and then it was Steve’s turn to walk the few blocks into town for more beers while I watched the gear and did some first aid on the open blisters I’d gotten from wandering around in wet shoes for two weeks. We ended up two more beers in before his college friends Annie and Peter showed up to take us in for the night, which made for a super fun ride to their house; Annie, Peter, and Steve piled into the cab of Peter’s pickup while I laid on my back in the bed holding down the boat. Safety third!
Annie and Peter had a gorgeous house in downtown Lambertville with a fantastic porch. Annie put together an amazing fancy snack tray, they invited over a few more Green Mountain College alumni, and we all proceeded to get VERY rum drunk while the guys played guitar.
As it turns out, Steve hadn’t been lying to me the entire time I’ve known him about his musical abilities. I have to give him credit: he’s way better than I thought he’d be given the colossal quantity of shit he’s usually full of. He does, however, have a small problem in that his volume is directly proportional to the number of drinks in his system. It’s a good thing the evening’s musical talent had actual talent, because we also had a substantial number of beverages.