This chapter compares the author's expedition with that of John Steinbeck's, who roamed America in a camper truck called Rocinante searching for the soul of his own troubled nation. In Travels with Charley, Steinbeck stated thus: “We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.” So it is with the author's little expedition. Even when picking a course through the white water, invariably the current does something unexpected, slews them around, grabs their bow, and sucks them toward a rock or, if they're lucky, a sluice. If the former, they bump around it or push off it, snake their way back toward the main current. If the latter, they feel little thrill in the stomach as they drop fast and rocket forward in a chirpy spray of cold water.
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