The water slipped past the riverbank and the large inflatable rafts which were landed against it. The adrenaline still flowed through his veins, and the feeling of satisfaction for another day of running whitewater washed over him. 

“Alright! Paddles over there on the ground next to the boats,” commanded Raft Daddy to his commercial clients. “Lifejackets too. Great work folks!” 

The clueless tourists from different parts of the United States fumbled with their helmet buckles, and helped each other with their Personal Floatation Devices. 

Raft Daddy gave a quick to his other guides and a quick nod, prompting them to begin picking up rafts and carrying them to the trailer behind the repurposed school bus.  

Salida was everything he had heard of. When he moved to Colorado and decided to check out the Arkansas River, he fell in love both with the scenery and the amazing rapids that ran through Browns Canyon, the Royal Gorge and more. 

Raft Daddy walked over to a large rock and sat down before swapping out his water shoes for his more preferred footwear, Chaco sandals. 

“Here you go,” said a voice to his side. 

Raft Daddy looked over and one of the tourists, a young man in his 30s who said he was from Tennessee held out a wad of cash as a tip for his services. 

“Ah, much appreciated,” Raft Daddy replied with a smile. “I hope you have a great time in the mountains here, and safe travels back to Memphis.” 

With a glance, he looked down and noticed the wad of cash was several hundred dollars, which was far and beyond the normal tip he received. The man with black hair and a handsome face smiled down. 

“There’s more where that came from, you know?” 

“You want to go on another run? We’re booked up on this afternoon’s trip, but we’re happy to get you slotted in again soon,” Raft Daddy replied. 

The man from Tennessee sat down on another large rock next to him. 

“No, I’ve got another line of work for you,” the commercial whitewater client said before quickly realizing the potential for misunderstanding. “Don’t worry, nothing weird!” 

Raft Daddy smiled and shook his head. 

“Okay, what are you talking about?” 

“Listen, I know you’re just a raft guide right now, but you also used to be a quality college wrestler, and I know you even gave professional wrestling a try.” 

With wide eyes, Raft Daddy was obviously surprised. 

“Yeah, well, the river called for me, you know? This is where I belong.” 

Both men were quiet for a moment before the man from Tennessee spoke. 

“My name is Parker Meloche, and I manage a wrestling promotion back in Memphis. We could work out some sort of arrangement where you fly in to Memphis to wrestle, but never miss a season back here in the mountains.” 

Raft Daddy didn’t know what to say, so Parker continued after a brief pause. 

“Here’s my card. Think about it over the rest of the season and give me a call. We can work something out.” 

Parker held out his business card, which Raft Daddy took while questioning how the card was still dry from the day of rafting. 

“Alright, I’ll think about it,” Raft Daddy answered. 

“That’s all I ask,” Parker replied before getting off the rock and heading back to be with the rest of the clients.