July 22, 2014
To Lead an Exceptional Life: The Russian River

Because of the ELF’s slow pace and our decision to take the slow road, we get the chance to stay with my friends Sam and Nico in Guerneville, CA. Samantha, the ever enthusiast and sweet, sweet heart, called me when I group texted the Topanga family that the brakes had gone out on Route 17. Nico talked me through the decision to get towed and Sam offered us a place to stay once we got back on the road, as their house is a few hours north.

Once back on the road from the brake job in Campbell, CA and the monastery escapee’s suggestion to go the slow route, we wind our way up to Guerneville, CA.

Sam texts and says, “I left the key under the brick. U can let Lucy out. Feel free to take the canoe out. It’s heavy though! There is river access down River Lane, or the better one is 15 minute walk to end of orchard right at the playground down road and climb steep path on left. Sorta hidden. Follow to small sandy beach.”

Steven drives. Pamela and I sing—The Head and the Heart, Ray La Montagne, Bob Dylan, Stevie Nicks, John Prine. We stop in Monte Rio to collect lunch supplies. We clunkily park the ELF in a gravel parking lot next to a half moon barn structure that looks like a silo cut in half and turned over. As we make our way around the building we realize it is an old movie theatre. Chipped paintings of movie posters still cling to the side of the stucco like material–The Empire Strikes Back, Field of Dreams, The Birds, and Rebel Without a Cause. It’s so odd to look at a painting of a movie poster but here, in Monte Rio; the awkward and thick lined depictions seem perfectly in place. Supposedly Zack Braff paid a lot of money to keep it afloat.

We follow the signs (kid you not) on Bohemian highway to the nearest market. We walk across the bridge that crosses the Russian River. Pamela laughs, swings her hips and says, “Oh yea, I knew there was something missing. I said to myself, the only thing we need is saxophone playing in the background.” And Steven turns around and says, “Really?” And the sound of the saxophone rises from underneath the bridge.

Pamela playfully hits his arm and says, “No. I just said that because I hear the saxophone.” It was sweet, the way he believed her so whole-heartedly, naively. I lean over to find the player. I only see water. And feel their sweet sounds rising.

We buy avocados, bread, spinach, jalapenos, tomatoes, ice for the cooler and a six-pack of beer (just in case) and make our way to their house. We readjust our clothes, put a load in the washer, rest. I read. Pamela meditates. Then we put on our suits and search out the river. I read Samantha’s text aloud. “Past the playground. Steep trail on left.” Pamela finds it first. And we follow the thin grey sandy trail to the river’s edge.

Steven immediately disappears, I assume to go meditate in the woods. Two women singing and chatting must be overwhelming for a young 20 something that just sat in near silence for six months.

Pamela is the first to go in. She shivers and wades into the center of the river. I watch as she inspects the riverbed and bends down every once in a while to pick up a rock. She collects them and when I wade in to join her, she displays her finds on her shivering hand. Pamela and I stretch into yoga poses, take photographs to try and collect these brief, wondrous moments in time. Then we find the deeper part of the river.

My legs adjust to the cold river water. And yet, I know once I dive in, it will be cold over my entire body. Standing on the precipice between deep and shallow water, I tell myself this mantra—Lead an Exceptional Life. Lead an Exceptional Life. My friend Justin and I made this promise a few years ago. We would always lead an exceptional life. So when fear creeps in and I want to duck out of something so beautiful and glorious as diving into the clean, crisp Russian River, I can’t let him down. I can’t let myself down. I must always lead an exceptional life.

I take a breath full and cleansing. And dive right in.