It was late summer as we slogged through the Canadian bush to the promise of a “river bath”. My queen was unhappy. She had that kind of “frustrated” you get when you have been recovering from multiple “ortho-involved” surgeries for the past two years and are forced to hike over rough terrain in thick brush to get “clean”. . . in a wild river.

She had endured multiple days of overlanding adventures and primitive camping. Now, with a few days of grime, she was looking forward to getting clean. But, it was through a 1/2 mile of bush and she doesn’t do “outdoors” very well. Especially following a series of invasive medical “cutting” on her knees, back and hips.

While I relish the thought of days in showerless existence (I learned in Central America that it does – in fact – keep the bugs away), my queen does not enjoy this. This was not a vacation, this was a death march.

Soon, overcome by frustration and pain, she sat by a tree and started crying. Through weird sounds and unusual movements of her mouth I managed to translate her sorrow soaked words to this. “I just want to go on a cruise. . . I just want to be taken care of.” The slumping of her shoulders and the outsized contortions on her face suggested that I was now in some pretty risky territory. I had saddened my queen. And “when the queen ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” Suddenly, my years of adventuresome travel and risk taking lifestyle were in jeopardy. I had to act quickly.

I acted without thinking. I immediately accepted the responsibility of paying for . . . and accompanying her on a “cruise”. (Strange word, “cruise”, to this day, I’m not sure I fully understand its meaning.)

I had made a horrific, self-damaging offer. I had made a rookie mistake in my panic. My unhappy queen seemed close to a massive explosion and I appeased her every wish, immediately, in an attempt to avert a meltdown.

Within seconds, I realized my mistake. Through her tear soaked, deep brown eyes, she glared into mine. They caught me off guard. I had not felt this analyzed since our early years. Her beautifully misty eyes searched my soul with earnestness. At that point, her expression immediately changed. In an amazing demonstration of skillful manipulation, she had gained back her throne and added to her empire. She had masterfully gained the upper hand from me. She had control again. She sniffed deeply, satisfied that my offer of truce was now an enforceable treaty that I would honor.

Then, she quickly stood, eyes drying rapidly and marched off to the river. With a new inspiration in her step.

I paused, staring at the tree that she had just sat in front of and pondered my new, unknown fate. I had just promised that I would do something I didn’t think possible. Mankind, at one time, stood a better chance of flying to Mars than it did of me going on this thing called “a cruise”. I knew I made a horrible mistake, but I also knew that it would be one of my most vexing challenges, in recent memory. And. . . I love a challenge. I also keep my word.

And so, that is how it came to be. This Viking had committed himself to going on a cruise. It was similar to the possibility of my ancestors being baptized Christians as soon as they pillaged their first Abbey. It was impossible to comprehend, then in a single, lightning fast twist of fate, it became a certainty. Gawd . . . what have I done!

Two years passed. I booked a Caribbean Cruise (as they call it) and the day of reckoning quickly approached. I was a fish, planning to be far out of water. . . laying on the floor, flopping helplessly in an alien environment.

So, here is my journal of this epic journey. My social media posts, forever, archiving one of my most challenging feats of late middle age. Going on a “cruise”.

And there it is. I ask the gods to make that my last encounter with a ship that offers nothing more than constant feast and weak drinks. But, at least my queen is fulfilled and I can get back to those dirty and miserable adventures.

Until next time. . . thanks for reading.