Last week on Tube to Work Day, I studied the Boulder Creek webcam, from the safety of my office in Fort Collins. I watched soggy tube commuters in 80s exercise wear, the sartorial theme of this week’s watery event. As if Richard Simmons or Jane Fonda were river sprites who could keep commuters afloat.
I know better.
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My wife and I once rented an apartment near Eben G. Fine park, where Boulder Creek bursts into the city. For weeks I had been watching tubers frolicking, spinning, and shouting their way through town. It was a splash party on the rocks, and I wanted in on the fun.
My wife is more sensible. She sees a flowing river for what it is: A hazard to any creature without gills. According to the Weather Channel website, seven inches of flowing water can knock an adult off of their feet. Water moving at 25 miles per hour has the force of a 790 mph wind. It’s stronger than a tornado.
Whatever. On a hot, midsummer day in Boulder, I visited a tube-rental shop. I signed and ignored the waiver, as one does. The young woman at the desk then asked, “Do you want to rent a helmet and a PFD, too?” PFD stands for “personal floatation device,” but to me it sounded like “Peter’s Fashion Disaster.” I didn’t want to float the creek looking like a dork!
My wife said, “Yes, he wants those.”
Twenty minutes later I was standing next to Boulder Creek in full safety regalia. I felt humiliated. But if I wanted to float, my wife had set the terms. I would do it safely.
Then I stepped into the water and felt a chill. It may have been the snowmelt that feeds Boulder Creek. Or it may have been presentiments of death.
Most probably, both.
Water is forceful. It carved the Grand Canyon, one mile deep!!
I pulled on my PFD and cinched my helmet. None of the other tubers was wearing safety gear. I pushed my floaty into the creek, and drifted placidly, waving to my wife on shore. Her face was a mask of worry, as if I had entered a Coliseum with lions, rather than a cute creek with tubers.
Then the fun began. Rapids! A waterfall! I plunged over the edge. Suddenly my tube pitched to a 60 degree angle, and I was falling backwards. When the tube hit the backwash, it shot into the air, as tubes do. I was tossed into an inverse underwater somersault that propelled jets of freezing water up my nose. It’s probably still up there in fact. Then I heard, and felt, a sickening scrape of my helmet against the rocks on the creek bottom.
I was in full flailing panic now, taking the force of Boulder Creek on my chest. As I struggled to locate the water’s surface, I felt a strong grip on my right arm, yanking me out of the boiling foam. A stranger set me upright and pushed me toward the shore and my freaked out wife. She didn’t shout “You idiot! You risked your life? For this?”
But I heard it, loud and clear over the bellowing of a tiny waterfall.
As I stumbled toward safety, breathing raggedly and trembling from adrenaline, I saw my rescuer plunge back into the river. He grabbed a pair of kids, maybe 11 and 14 years old, after they executed the same flip that might have killed any of us.
Am I being overdramatic?
Back on shore I removed my helmet and noticed a seven-inch gouge in the plastic. That divot would have been in my skull, were it not for my rental helmet.
So I won’t Tube to Work, or anyplace else. My priority is always to arrive, alive.
