2017 Guadalupe River Trip with Edlow

Coolers, Chaos, and the Guadalupe Gauntlet: Floating with Edlow

If you’ve never floated the Guadalupe River in Texas, let me paint you a picture: it’s like a lazy river designed by a party planner with a flair for unpredictability. Add in scorching sun, questionable footwear, and a cooler packed with ambition (and beer), and you’ve got the perfect recipe for a day that starts chill and ends with sunburn, laughter, and at least one lost sandal.

Now toss in my buddy Edlow—part philosopher, part chaos agent—and you’ve got a float trip that deserves its own documentary.

🛶 The Launch: Optimism and Overpacking

We arrived at the river armed with tubes, sunscreen, and the kind of confidence that only comes from watching too many YouTube videos about “how to float like a pro.” Edlow had brought a cooler so large it required its own tube. Inside? Enough drinks to hydrate a small village and exactly one sandwich, which he labeled “emergency rations.”

We strapped everything together like we were building a raft to escape civilization. I had my tube, Edlow had his, and the cooler tube was the MVP. We launched into the water like majestic river creatures—awkward, pale, and already slightly tipsy.

🍻 The Float Begins: Beer, Banter, and Buoyancy

The first hour was bliss. The water was cool, the sun was shining, and Edlow was already three drinks deep and philosophizing about river currents like he was auditioning for a nature documentary.

“Bro,” he said, swirling his drink, “the river is like life. You can’t fight it. You just float.”

Profound. Until he floated directly into a tree branch and spilled half his drink.

We passed other floaters—some blasting music, some napping, some clearly regretting their life choices. One group had a floating speaker and a tiny inflatable unicorn. Edlow tried to trade them a beer for the unicorn. Negotiations failed.

🌊 Rapids and Regrets

Then came the rapids.

Now, “rapids” on the Guadalupe are more like nature’s way of saying, “Let’s spice things up.” We hit a section where the water picked up speed, and suddenly our float trip turned into a low-budget action movie.

Edlow yelled “HOLD THE COOLER!” like we were saving a baby from a burning building. I clung to my tube like it owed me money. The cooler flipped, the sandwich was lost, and Edlow’s flip-flop was last seen heading toward Mexico.

We emerged from the chaos soaked, laughing, and slightly traumatized. A stranger handed us a beer and said, “You guys looked like you were filming Survivor: River Edition.” Accurate.

🧴 Sunburns and Snack Attacks

By hour three, the sunscreen had given up. Edlow’s shoulders were turning the color of cooked shrimp, and I had a tan line that looked like a topographical map. We tried to reapply, but everything was wet, sticky, and vaguely beer-scented.

We pulled over to a shady bank to regroup. Edlow found a granola bar in his pocket that had fused into a single chewy brick. We shared it like pioneers. I tried to dry my towel, which was somehow wetter than the river.

🏁 The Final Stretch: Float Zombies

The last leg of the float was quiet. Everyone was sun-drunk, dehydrated, and emotionally bonded by shared suffering. Edlow was humming “Sweet Caroline” to himself. I was contemplating whether my legs still worked.

We finally reached the exit point, dragging our tubes like war heroes. The cooler was dented. The sandwich was gone. Edlow’s flip-flop was still missing. But our spirits? Unbreakable.

🥇 Float Trip Debrief

We sat in the parking lot, eating gas station tacos and reliving every ridiculous moment. Edlow declared it “the most spiritual experience involving beer and river rocks” he’d ever had. I agreed, mostly because I couldn’t feel my arms.

Floating the Guadalupe River with Edlow wasn’t just a day trip—it was a journey. A comedy. A test of endurance. And a reminder that sometimes, the best memories come from the messiest adventures.

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