“How many people slept well last night?” No hands raised.
“How many people did this all night long?” Woody asked next, snaking his hand through the air like a kayak running a rapid. Heads nodded all around.
“I must’ve run the notch a hundred fifty times in my sleep last night,” Chris Harjes muttered, the steam of his words meshing with the breath of all the other paddlers gathered in the Saturday morning chill. All I could think was “If these guys are this nervous, what the hell am I doing here?!?”
“We really need to make a smart decision,” Woody continued. “I don’t want to be written up in the next American Whitewater as those idiots who ran a race too high.”