I'm nothing if not a humanitarian, so here's a bit of wisdom. It turns out that true bliss costs $100 plus gas.
I'm not talking about in-the-moment bliss like Whac-a-mole or just-passing-through Bliss like the town in Idaho or even temporary bliss like the 90 minutes after you've had really good Chinese food. I'm talking about lasting bliss. The kind of bliss you can still feel when you close your eyes at night. The kind you think about the next day—that gets better the more you think about it.
It's not true love, but it's a clear second.
Yesterday Thelma fell in love with the raw beauty of Lake Chelan. I fell in love with the raw power of a four-cylinder, 1052cc, 20-valve, 110-horsepower, liquid-cooled, wave-running dream machine. For five and a half hours, it was the only thing between me and the lake. Throw my boys on the back and I'm in liquid heaven.
I'm not exactly certain where my enthusiasm for wave runners originated. It must be a culmination of many things.
Part of it is the same high I got when I first learned to ride a bike. The freedom and speed and wind rushing against my face. The thrill I felt when I leaned into my first fast corner. The butterflies in my stomach as I raced over the old dirt roads weaving through the forest behind McCullom Park.
Part of it is my love affair with water. There must be something genetic in my affection. I don't remember not knowing how to swim. I was born in March and splashing in the pool at my parent's apartment by summer. Come June, my entire family would rather be at or in The River than just about anywhere else.
It's moving water I love best. I prefer swimming in a river to swimming in a lake, taking a shower to soaking in the tub, diving to floating.
Somehow all of these things come together in that machine—even rudimentary versions.
It must have been the summer of 1983 when my family took a vacation to the Okanogan region of north-central Washington and south-central British Columbia. I remember that trip for the day we spent at the water slide park in Penticton, BC, on Megan's fourth birthday. I remember riding in the canopied bed of a red Toyota pickup truck with a sorry excuse for foam pads as the only thing between me, my brothers and the ribbed metal floor. I remember the three of us squeezing our heads through the sliding window that separated the canopy from the cab so we could watch as the odometer turned over 100,00 miles while we were passing through a provincial park.
As much as all that, though, I remember standing on the shores of Lake Osoyoos with my dad watching in fascination as people propelled themselves through the water on motorized surfboards. It was also the first time I saw someone parasailing, but my imagination was captured by what must have been the primordial ancestors of the wave runner. For a brief moment my dad considered renting one. He made the mistake of verbalizing this idea. I must have become the world's biggest pest. I wanted so badly to try one.
You know, if I squint the eyes of my memories just right, I can convince myself that it's Braeden and I standing on the shores of that lake. I can hear Braeden begging for a ride. I can hear my mind saying "maybe some other time" but my heart pounding in protest. It must have been hard for my dad to tell me no.
Jump ahead 25 years. There's bliss again. And there's Mark standing on the shore as I'm getting ready to take Braeden for a ride. I look at his eager face and wonder-filled eyes. I see myself standing next to my dad staring out at the lake. How can I possibly pull away?
"Mark, get your life jacket! We can all go together."
I'm not talking about in-the-moment bliss like Whac-a-mole or just-passing-through Bliss like the town in Idaho or even temporary bliss like the 90 minutes after you've had really good Chinese food. I'm talking about lasting bliss. The kind of bliss you can still feel when you close your eyes at night. The kind you think about the next day—that gets better the more you think about it.
It's not true love, but it's a clear second.
Yesterday Thelma fell in love with the raw beauty of Lake Chelan. I fell in love with the raw power of a four-cylinder, 1052cc, 20-valve, 110-horsepower, liquid-cooled, wave-running dream machine. For five and a half hours, it was the only thing between me and the lake. Throw my boys on the back and I'm in liquid heaven.
I'm not exactly certain where my enthusiasm for wave runners originated. It must be a culmination of many things.
Part of it is the same high I got when I first learned to ride a bike. The freedom and speed and wind rushing against my face. The thrill I felt when I leaned into my first fast corner. The butterflies in my stomach as I raced over the old dirt roads weaving through the forest behind McCullom Park.
Part of it is my love affair with water. There must be something genetic in my affection. I don't remember not knowing how to swim. I was born in March and splashing in the pool at my parent's apartment by summer. Come June, my entire family would rather be at or in The River than just about anywhere else.
It's moving water I love best. I prefer swimming in a river to swimming in a lake, taking a shower to soaking in the tub, diving to floating.
Somehow all of these things come together in that machine—even rudimentary versions.
It must have been the summer of 1983 when my family took a vacation to the Okanogan region of north-central Washington and south-central British Columbia. I remember that trip for the day we spent at the water slide park in Penticton, BC, on Megan's fourth birthday. I remember riding in the canopied bed of a red Toyota pickup truck with a sorry excuse for foam pads as the only thing between me, my brothers and the ribbed metal floor. I remember the three of us squeezing our heads through the sliding window that separated the canopy from the cab so we could watch as the odometer turned over 100,00 miles while we were passing through a provincial park.
As much as all that, though, I remember standing on the shores of Lake Osoyoos with my dad watching in fascination as people propelled themselves through the water on motorized surfboards. It was also the first time I saw someone parasailing, but my imagination was captured by what must have been the primordial ancestors of the wave runner. For a brief moment my dad considered renting one. He made the mistake of verbalizing this idea. I must have become the world's biggest pest. I wanted so badly to try one.
You know, if I squint the eyes of my memories just right, I can convince myself that it's Braeden and I standing on the shores of that lake. I can hear Braeden begging for a ride. I can hear my mind saying "maybe some other time" but my heart pounding in protest. It must have been hard for my dad to tell me no.
Jump ahead 25 years. There's bliss again. And there's Mark standing on the shore as I'm getting ready to take Braeden for a ride. I look at his eager face and wonder-filled eyes. I see myself standing next to my dad staring out at the lake. How can I possibly pull away?
"Mark, get your life jacket! We can all go together."
Comments