“The Human Race doesn’t appear to have been very advanced,” Cluphlon stated matter of factually as he and crew member Impan watched from the craft’s window.

“Why would we say such a thing after witnessing the death of so many helpless life forms?” Impan asked.

“Oh, we weren’t meaning to sound cruel,” Cluphlon relied. “It’s that they spoke such a monosyllabic language, communicating in grunts and not complete words or sentences. As the meteor struck the planet, some of their last words recorded were ‘OMG’ and ‘WTF.’”

“Odd for a species beginning to journey beyond their solar system,” Impan stated.

Trump ought to make the wall outta Russian collusion. People can’t get over it.

Russia’s developed a rocket that goes 27 times the speed of sound — and they’re not using it to put a man on Mars. So, Houston, we have a problem.

My spirit was telling me that I was nearing the end of my travels on the Colorado River. I couldn’t tell you then, nor can I tell you now, how it is that one can come to such a conclusion without empirical proof, but somehow I knew it. I felt stronger than I ever had that day, paddling and paddling. I did not take time to allow my body to rest or for the canoe to simply drift down river.

No, I paddled for much of my worth and I enjoyed the sensation it gave me.

There were signs as I continued towards my goal; a boundary mark here, a fence there, each telling me that Mexico lay jus’ beyond. Now my goal was not to enter that country, as I didn’t wish to deal with the Federales again, so I made certain I remained on the U.S. side of the line.

As evening set that day, I felt a sense of disappointment drop across my shoulders. I was so sure that my trip was to end before the sun fell in the West – but I still hadn’t found where the two nations met for that final time and as I put ashore, I found myself weeping uncontrollably, emotions I had not exercised in a long while. Once I got everything out of my system and my soul felt cleansed, I set myself to establishing a camp, a fire and made ready for a good nights’ sleep following dinner. As I fell asleep, I dared not allow myself to imagine that the next time the sun shone across the distant mountains in the east, it would be my last day upon this river.

As the morning broke, I was slow to put out. While my spirit was willing, my body felt numbed. I prepared a small bowl of beans and some coffee. And as I sat and ate, I looked up and down the river and wondered why I had even done any of this and I concluded that I had again made a rash and highly irrational decision.

Quietly, I cleaned out my bowl and cup, put them away, poured water on my fire, stirring it until it was cold to the touch. For some reason I felt let down and I had no idea what had caused it, perhaps it was having been around people and yet having had no contact. Maybe it was the general notion that some grand adventure was coming to a close. At that moment, I didn’t know and I really didn’t care as I put out once more.

My desire to continued paddling as I had the day before, ebbed. While my strength was there, the desire was lacking and I ended up drifting down river more than paddling. For a good length of time, the only reason my paddle touched the water’s surface was to maintain my position closest to the east side of the river. I didn’t want to stray into Mexico and find myself being detained.

It was jus’ afternoon when I saw a warning that told me I was more than close to the end point of this journey as I drift by an upright pole in the river, holding sign that warned that Immigration and Customs patrolled the area. Somewhere ahead was the border, and suddenly I felt invigorated as I stroked by that sign.

As I slipped around a slight bend that took me for right to left, I saw in the distance the looming features of a dam. I had no idea that there was a dam this far down on the Colorado, not once did I realize that this man-made structure would be the end of my river adventure as I paddle closer and closer to it. As I drew nearer, I continued to stay on the eastern side of the river, close to the Arizona side and not stray into Mexico’s water way.

There, up on a man-made dyke I could see the name, Morelos Dam. It was the end of the road for the time being as I drove the canoe into a marshy at the base of the structure. One more time, the final time, I dragged the stolen canoe up onto dry land where I shouldered my rucksack and climbed the dyke’s steep embankment.

For a couple of minutes I looked south and into Mexico, realizing what I’d done. A long ago memory suddenly popped into my head; a story read to my third grade class, “Paddle to the Sea,” about a hand-carved canoe toy that made it from Ontario to the Atlantic. I smiled, thinking how such a journey might be ‘impossible now days given all the  impediments’ that could be in the toy’s way.

My spirit soaring once more and my body with it, I turned east and walked from the dyke and then northwards on what the locals call ‘Cooper Lateral.’ Somewhere ahead was a crossing that would allow me access to California and the Salton Sea. Perhaps I might find some work to trade out for a resupply of rice and beans and a new disposable lighter. The thought of such small things gave me sense of joy and it was always the small things.

No one notices when you’re provoked, only when you retaliate.

The choice isn’t between the ‘red’ pill or the ‘blue’ one, but whether you are ‘Alice’ or ‘the Queen.’

President Trump could sell ice to an Eskimo, that’s because he’s already sold rice to China.

The art of fly-fishing is the science of healing everything.

Not all who wander are lost. As for me, I’m searching for coffee, but if it gets much later I’ll be looking for whiskey.

As the sun was beginning to set, I walked back to the reservoir and then south of it. I needed to see if there were a landing or a piece of embankment I could use to put in again – because now I had a plan evolving.

After dark, I quietly picked my way back towards the eastbound road and relocated the shopping cart I’d seen tossed down the embankment. Should it have all its wheels, it would be perfect for loading the over-sized canoe into and moving everything, lock, stock and barrel to the south side of the dam.

With all the wheels intact, I started back the way I’d come. As I approached the corner to turn north, movement on the ground caught my eye – I damn near stepped on a rattle snake. With a large rock, I invited the dangerous reptile to dinner.

It took me another hour to wrestle the canoe up the rest of the embankment, then into the cart, balancing it on one shoulder so that it would not tip out, and to the other side of the reservoir. I had jus’ unloaded the canoe and slipped it over the embankment when I saw a set of headlight approaching from the east where I found the cart.

I dropped down the embankment and didn’t move until the vehicle drove north on the service road I’d been walking.

It took me a few extra minutes to find a place to build a small fire and begin the job of skinning my meal. I left the canoe further up the siding, upside down, jus’ in case it rained again and before the moon was fully overhead, I was roasting my find and preparing to eat.

In the distant western shies, I could see the clouds beginning to build. I knew a storm was on its way and that I had to eat fast and find my way to my shelter under the canoe. It was only minutes before I heard the first crack of thunder after a finger of lightning danced over the desert.

I fell asleep to the rhythmic beating of rain drops on the canoe bottom and I slept well.

Somewhere in the distance I heard the unmistakable yelps and whines of a pack of coyotes. Their calls woke me to the fact that it was nearly sunrise and that I needed to vacate the piece of real estate I’d encamped on. Within 20 minutes, I had completed my portage and had put out for whatever lay ahead on this ever narrowing river.

Through sunrise, morning and mid morning I continued to paddle then to drift with the river’s current. Come noon, afternoon and evening I had spent my day doing more of the same. I saw very little in the way of wildlife and even less of humans; not even the sound of civilization could be heard above the ever-present gurgling of the water and its lapping at the bow of the canoe. I felt as if I were the last man on earth for a while.

At certain points the river narrows, at others it widens. Some points the water flows quickly, still others, it stands still. These come and go, with no evidence which water course you might find. What is true is that civilization does exist along the river, and Fort Yuma is such a place.

After meandering through long lazy bends that end sharply, I heard more than saw the signs of a man-made life ahead of me. At last, I didn’t allow myself to worry about having come down the river permit-less, I was now in company of a town filled with people, possibly a good meal and an easy rest as they had to have grass some place that I could spread my tired body across.

And I was right. I had not known it at the time, but I had floated the length of the Fort Yuma Indian Reservation and never saw a single person since I’d heard the and seen the vehicle approach the Imperial Reservoir. Now, I could hear vehicles and other sounds that I recognized as that of a small city.

Soon I passed beneath a bridge, which sign read ‘Penitentiary Avenue.’ This was quickly followed by a second overpass, much-larger than the last with the name ‘Kimeyaay Highway.’ Beyond that I found a patch of Eden on the eastern side of the river, aptly called, ‘Gateway Park.’ It was here that I put to shore, stowing the canoe in the rocks and bushes and shouldering my rucksack before heading back towards town.

Simply being in proximity to other people felt good. I hadn’t felt this joyful in a long time. I spent the evening, watching, smelling and listening. I even found an open area with live music being played. All to soon though, I had to head back to where I left the canoe and return to my journey’s end.

About 15 minutes down river, I put in again and established a small camp. There was no rain showers this night, so after a large bowl of beans and rice, I rolled out my sleeping bag and slipped into a dreamless state under the now comforting blanket of stars.

Life for town folk doesn’t always begin as early as it does for someone of the heel. But when it does begin, it is far more noisy than one realizes when they’ve been wild-bound for days on end. I think it was the sound of a garbage truck banging a large dumpster that brought me out of my sleep.

After a stretch and yawn, I took a short dip in the river to clean up. In the mean time I’d begun a small campfire and had some coffee brewing. By the time I finished rinsing the soap from my body, it was ready and I sat on the bank, both listening to the river and town, enjoying the coffee’s warmth.