Tubing from Cherokee to the North Pole

Our first tubing trip had been rained out. A few weekends ago, Gecko, Spark and I drove east toward the Green River, under an ominous sky and a less than favorable weather report. We were somehow hoping Mother Nature’s forecast for torrential rain didn’t apply to us. I had hoped instead that she would envelope us in a VIP cocoon of sunshine while the rest of North Carolina was left to pack up their picnic blankets and run under a gazebo for cover. I learned that day that Mother Nature does not play favorites.

Last Sunday, in a commendable and honest attempt to dodge death by heatstroke, we decided to try again. This time heading toward Cherokee, North Carolina: Me, Gecko, Puma, and Drew. Appropriately named, Cherokee is the sovereign Indian boundary for the Cherokee tribe, otherwise referred to as a reservation. We were there to meet up with Tyson, a friend of the group, a tribe member, and our tubing cheif.

Along the way, we passed businesses that were expected or seemed fitting: a casino, a diner called the Little Princess, Handcraft and Moccasin shops, mechanical bull rides and a strip mall with store names like Grizzly’s Leather and Sunrise Trading Post.
So when we stumbled upon a small amusement park called Santaland, the connection was anyone’s guess. Santaland? In a Cherokee Indian boundary? Open during the summer? All we kept saying was, “How fabulous!” It was only after I saw a grown man get out of his car in green shorts and a red t-shirt in front of a sign boasting the “famous” Rudicoaster, that my affections between tubing and exploring Santaland in Cherokee Country became equally divided.

When we finally jumped onto our big blue tubes to start the hour-long caravan float downstream, the sun was hot, the water cool and the picture perfect. That is until, no more than five minutes later, we heard the first crack of ear splitting thunder. Followed by a bolt of lightning, which landed within striking distance of our tubes, and a downpour so heavy it became worthy of a name.
As Hurricane Rudicoaster descended upon us, there were tough choices to make: did we get out and stand on the banks, sacrificing life and limb to hungry river snakes? Or did we continue on through electrically charged grand rapids?
I looked back as Gecko was frantically untying the metal thermos attached to his tube, and I began to pray over the rubber soles of my sneakers. I pictured myself sitting on Santa’s lap, next to a crackling fire in his cozy workshop, requesting my survival for Christmas.
Nearing the end - my lips blue, my fingers numb, my camera soaked and my enthusiasm washed ashore over an hour before – the rain suddenly stopped, the sky turned bright blue and the sun broke through the clouds.
“Glad you all made it down safe. Anyone up for some candy cane ice cream and a bull ride?”