I don't know rivers. But I have gone rafting.
It's summer and I want to spend summer doing summer things. It hasn't been too hot or rainy; it's been beautiful all along. We spend days at the mesa in a half drunken euphoria and stay until sunset where the fire seems to burn down the mountain in a scene so gorgeous most people would claim it's special effects.
We'd done float trips, where we lazily pushed along in a boat, getting ripped while DJ follows in his little fishing pontoon behind us. He looks like a little kid in the pool riding a floating duck, but instead its green not yellow and there is no head. He flicks his rod every now and again hoping for some resistance in the end.
We didn't want to float again. This time we want to rage down the river, take a ride like those described to us from the river junkies. Big white water and crashing waves. Rides like at the guided tour places where there are pictures on the wall of some fellow two feet above the raft and three feet out, a l