Two Transient Canoers

The sense of adventure, if it could be a tangible thing- was a slab of fat pork belly, awesome and satisfyingly gluttonous. Once we finally strapped the canoe to the roof, Modest Mouse and gutteral burps from road sodas filled the air. Our excitement streamed through the windows, the mountain air stuttering against the straps on the gear in the back of the truck like the eyes of a roomful of men when a young woman enters. Who were we? Two idiots that spend more of their time thinking about art than baseball, or who would rather talk the faint hairs on the slight curve of a female neck than stats for fantasy football. What were we doing spending a week on a river canoeing?