Andrea

We moved from Grand Junction, CO to Las Vegas back in about 2003.  The preparation for the move was a disaster.  We grossly underestimated the amount of stuff we had and had to go back for a trailer to tow behind the U-Haul. When that was full and there was still stuff left, we had to go back and get another truck and also a car carrier to tow our Ford Explorer.  I almost lost my right hand to that damn car carrier.

But before that even happened we had to load the second truck.  And one of the things that we had to load was a 1978 Honda CB750 motorcycle.  It had been a long and grueling day prior of loading; I did basically everything by myself as my wife moved boxes to the door and cleaned the house.  I backed the bike to the back of the garage and got a running start up the ramp to the back of the U-Haul and made it about halfway up before I had to back it down again.  Second try, same result.  Now I'm panting from the exertion.  After about 10 minutes I tried again.  This time I got about 2/3 of the way before inertia hit.  I could hold the bike and prevent it from backing down the ramp again, but I also could not move it forward a single inch no matter how hard I tried.

Suddenly I felt something hard and forceful hit me in the small of my back.  It felt like I was being blocked from behind in a football game.  It was my wife, all 5 feet of her, lowering her shoulder into to me after a running start.  She gave me just enough umph for me to relax for a fleeting second, take a deep breath, and then lean back into the bike, which started to move up to the top of the ramp and into the back of the truck.

Fast forward a few years.  We're in Minnesota now, Up North at Gooseberry Falls, just kind of dinking around and hiking a little bit.   We come around the bend to see a dude in a wetsuit in the water, hanging onto the bank, his kayak just a little behind him.  He seemed fine, really, just hanging out taking a breather or something.  We go a bit further up the trail when I hear faint yelling.  I look up and there's another dude in a wetsuit up at the top of a cliff, frantically waving and pointing and yelling.  I point back towards the guy in the water and cliff dude goes nuts.  I put two and two together, turn around and without really thinking start running back to the first guy, leaving my wife in my dust.

I get to him and start talking to him.  He's lucid, but barely.  He's been in the water about 15 minutes at that point, and we need to get him out.  I ask him if he's going to be able to help me and he assures me that he can, and even goes so far as to tell me the protocol to get him out- hands underneath his life preserver.  I get my hands under his vest, dig my feet in, and lean back, butt over heels.  He lets go of the bank and suddenly I have all of his weight and a current from the river leading towards the falls on top of that.  At that time, I was probably around 230 pounds.  I'll never forget the sudden realization that he was easily 250.  I rocked forward on my heels and started leaning further back, thinking to myself that if he pulled me in I wasn't going to let go of his life preserver no matter what.  I was stuck there for what felt like an eternity but was in reality mere seconds.  Then I felt two hands grab the back of my belt and pull.  It wasn't a huge tug, but it was just enough for me to reset my stance and keep my center.  Another couple of seconds and the kayak dude popped out of the water like a cork.  He had a good 3 inches and easily 40 pounds on me- he was a big boy!  I turned around to face my wife, who still had a good grip on my belt at that point. She'd given me just enough of a break to save not only the kayak guy's life, but probably my own as well.

I am a Project Manager by trade, which means that I am usually the Man With The Plan.  My wife, well, she likes to let you think that she just wings it, but the reality is that she's been up for hours the night before researching the best way to load the truck, or fix the sink, or create her own stained glass, or fix the scratches on the floor.

But I find that I am truly at my best when I just wing it.  Because whether its deciding to move to Denver, or to buy a house when we get there, or buy a new car, or get a heavy ass bike into the back of a U-Haul or save a wayward kayaker, in the back of my head I know that I have this little dynamo that has my back and will give me Just Enough to get us where we need to go.

Here's to the next adventure.


BONUS ROUND TIME:

If you've paid any attention whatsoever to this little blog of mine, you'll notice that I have a certain naming scheme.  You might be observing to yourself that I've deviated from that scheme in this post. Au contraire, mon frer.    My wife will deny it to the end's of the earth, but her Mother will attest that her name is pronounced "On-Dray-uh".  She goes by Drea to her friends and family, of which I am both.