I tore my knee rafting with the IOP this weekend. Not even cool rafting at the moment of the injury. Is was right after the training session – practicing boat flips – before the good white-water Class IVs.
I slipped, and my right knee popped twice, loudly. I knew I was finished the second I heard those sounds.
I spent the rest of the weekend limping around camp and icing my knee in the river while fly-fishing.
But it wasn’t bad. For one, the free food was phenomenal. Sandwiches and eggs and apples and chili and pasta and pancakes.
Two, people kept making me coffee. Not even instant. Over and over, people said, “Pete, do you want me to make you some fresh coffee?”
And I’d say, “Well, I probably shouldn’t, but…”
Three, I found a low-ball boulder that I could climb on with one leg, and manufactured a nice forearm pump. That was just after catching a huge gopher snake that hissed at me like a cat (a sound I’d never heard come out of a reptile).
As the stars multiplied in the river canyon sky, my friends brought out their guitars and started to sing Bob Dylan covers. People gave me tea. Told stories. Shared food.
We laughed and sang until the middle of the night.
It was the best knee injury I’ve ever had.