Categories: TRAVEL

Adventures Tubing on the New River

I just got back from our annual family reunion. For the third time we got cabins in the mountains outside of Boone, North Carolina. The reunion is held to coincide with our parents’ anniversary and we have it in the mountains so we can get off-season rates at ski lodges big enough to host all of the children and grandchildren.

We had four cabins this year, two of which were directly adjacent to the New River. Last year we also had a cabin on the river and went tubing. It sounds pretty adventurous but it’s actually a very relaxing thing, or at least it is when the water is calm.

For the uninitiated, tubing is floating down the river in a flotation device that looks like the inner tube for a tire on an 18-wheeler. You sit your butt in the empty hole in the middle, turn off your mind, relax and float downstream.

Last year when we did this the water level was pretty low and we had several instances of “butt scrapes” when body bottom bounced off the rocks at the bottom of the New River. This year the water level was a little higher and that was not as much of an issue.

We didn’t go far last year but when we were trekking back to our cabin through a path in the woods, it seemed like quite the distance. This year we went much further.

My traveling companions on the New River this year were my five-year-old son, my nephew and four nieces. In other words, I was the responsible adult in the group. That should have been our first clue that things were not going to go smoothly.

Everything started out innocently enough. We floated past where we got off last year and no one was ready to get out of the water. Then the playfulness started. Growing in the river was some green plant that we called seaweed but which had to be some kind of algae. Someone decided that it would be fun to grab a handful of this and throw it at one of their cousins.

We were all enjoying this game until one of my nieces picked up some and flung it at my nephew. This particular handful came with a healthy dose of mud and of course she hit him right in the face.

Now, during the whole reunion, the nephew was the king and the nieces were his royal subjects. So, as you can imagine, he did not particularly enjoy this little revolt. He made it his mission to get each of his subjects, uh girl cousins, back in spades. He got them all back, especially the one who threw the mud bomb.

Now the guilty niece was properly made up to impress the King, and she began our journey with perfect hair and enough eye liner to be seen a mile away. So you can imagine what several blasts to the head with seaweed bombs from the athletic cousin did to her look.

Eventually, an uneasy truce was agreed to and we turned our attention to the fact that we had no idea where we were on the river. And to complicate matters, there was no convenient place to get out and start our haul back.

Two of the nieces began insisting that the river would circle back to the cabin. I assured them that while the river did meander and turn that we were more likely to end up in Virginia then back where we started. I said this with the necessary air of certainty, even though I was unsure which direction the river flowed. Wikipedia tells me that the New River does indeed flow north into Virginia and then West Virginia.

Anyway, we’re floating along looking for a stopping point and all I can think of is how on earth I’m going to get these kids back in one piece. While they’re young and healthy, I don’t expect anyone is looking forward to a multi-mile hike uphill in the hot sun carrying a large inner tube.

Fate smiled on me, as we floated under a bridge that had not only a street sign, but one which I recognized the names of both streets. Shortly up from that was a landing that we were able to get to dry land.

Castleford was one of the streets that we came in on, now I just had to guess right as to which direction we needed to go. The two oldest cousins thought we should head in one direction, which was the one I thought we needed to go as well, so off our group set.

The boy started to have his doubts but the girl insisted that she had an excellent sense of direction and that we should keep going. I would have felt better if the girl didn’t live in London and if she had been to the last reunion.

There was a house up ahead and I could see an older man and his dog outside. I decided to ignore every male instinct in my body and ask the man for directions. Well, all I wanted to know is if we were heading the right direction.

I had my five-year old hoisted up on my shoulders and my tube was hanging by its string around my neck, hitting me in the legs as I walked. I was pretty sure I was not a threatening figure.

I hollered out to the man and explained that we were looking for confirmation that we were heading in the right direction. He studied me intently, no doubt wondering what I was doing with four young girls in tow.

“Where you from?” was his less than friendly rejoinder. Now, this question bothered me for two reasons. One, I was looking for a simple yes or no and had no interest in starting a conversation with this fellow. And two, my accent identifies me as a Yankee, also known in these parts as someone not to be trusted.

I grew up in New York and lived for a decade in Boston. And for the first time in my life I was trying to sound Southern. “Asheboro” I yelled to him, trying my best to muster up a drawl, from a distance of around 50 feet.

I explained that we were in town for a family reunion for my parents’ anniversary and he seemed to like that answer. But he was still not very forthcoming with the information I hoped to get from him.

We chatted for awhile and then he let it be known that his family used to own property on the outskirts of the development we were hoping to find. A little while later into our conversation he lets on that he has a pickup truck.

Now if it’s just me, I ask for a ride right away. But I’ve got to worry about the kids and what kind of mess I might be getting them into accepting a ride from a guy who we don’t know from Adam.

It was a classic Twix moment, but I didn’t have the advantage of having a chewy candy bar to pop into my mouth while thinking of the right thing to say and do. So, I decided to stall for time by keep talking and pretending that I either didn’t hear or didn’t care that he had a pickup.

I decided that the kids were in no shape to hike up the mountain. In large part this was because four of them had no shoes and the fifth just had flip-flops. I felt pretty confident that I could handle this guy if push came to shove. So, when he mentioned his pickup again, I asked if he would mind giving us a ride.

Now, I could feel the glares of the kids coming from behind me. I’m sure their parents had drummed into their heads that you don’t accept rides from strangers yet here I was, the supposed responsible adult, asking them to hop into a pickup with a guy who did not look particularly trustworthy.

The man went in the house to get his keys and his wife came outside. She was very reassuring to me. She looked much more wholesome than he did plus when she asked where I was from, she knew one of the nearby towns. I’m not sure why I found that reassuring, but I did.

Anyway, the man backs the truck out and almost runs into a ditch in the process. The kids are downright scared at this point. I ask the boy, the King, if he wants to ride in the cab with the man or in the back and hold my son. He shoots me a look as if I’ve completely lost my mind and tells me with complete certainty that he prefers the back.

Now, the man had an older pickup and it was all we could do to get six kids and five inner tubes somewhat safely into the bed. After the sardines, uh kids and tubes, were packed, I got into the cab and the man held out his hand and told me his name was Harold.

Now that we weren’t separated by 50 feet, we had a perfectly reasonable conversation. We were, indeed, headed in the right direction but I was so grateful to get a ride. It would have been brutal for the kids to walk uphill barefoot toting those giant tubes under the hot sun.

The first part of the development had a paved road but eventually we came to a rickety old wooden bridge and then a gravel path to get to our cabin. I decided to have Harold drop us off at the bridge and we would walk the rest of the way. I did that partly because I didn’t want to impose too much on Harold’s good nature and partly because I didn’t want my family to see us ride in on an old pickup.

I thanked Harold profusely and while helping the kids get down I reminded them to do the same. He told me it was great that families stayed together and he instructed me to wish my parents a happy anniversary.

We hiked the last little bit to the cabin and there were a bunch of relieved adults there to greet us. It turns out that right before we got there, my wife was telling everyone else that while I would never be confused with a boy scout that somehow I would get everyone home safe.

So, thanks for the ride Harold. You were a real life saver. I hope your wife made you some of that pie you were telling me about as your reward for doing your good deed for the day.