Up on that mountain, standing there with Kyle, listening to him share his goal, I realized that everyone has dreams, and that our dreams are not so different. They start unformed and indistinct but eventually take on shape and clarity. All of a sudden, I could hear Harlan Taney’s voice in my head inviting me to paddle the Grand Canyon with him—down 277 miles of rivers that included some of the biggest rapids in North America. Those rapids dwarfed anything I had experienced so far.

I hadn’t forgotten my previous river trips. I could remember vividly all the rocks I’d slammed into, the desperate swimming, the inaudible radios. I thought about the panic of being upside down, the fear that seemed to melt my will like wax, and the feeling of being massively overwhelmed by forces more powerful than me.

I recalled that there had been a moment way back when I had made a silent commitment to climb Mount Everest. At first, I didn’t tell anyone. I was too scared to say it out loud. Now this dream of the Grand Canyon was starting to rise up within me, much like Kyle’s dream must have begun.

I knew I could easily kill the idea of riding the rapids of the Grand Canyon and I would be able to tamp down any feelings of regret and disappointment. But Kyle had reached the summit above Winter Park and decided to let his dream of Kilimanjaro live and grow. He inspired me to do the same. As daunting as it sounded, despite my many questions without answers, I would commit and then find a way. My dream to kayak the Grand Canyon was now clear. I would just have to make it a reality.

12

Rob and I planned a bunch of local kayaking trips and also tentatively schemed about some big waters outside of the U.S. that we could paddle during the winter months. We were going to kick the kayaking into high gear to give me enough practice, experience, skills, and confidence to be ready for the Grand Canyon.

But then, one day, Rob broke the news to me that he had been diagnosed with prostate cancer. The words buckled me like a gut punch. I had not been prepared for them. Not the guy I referred to as the Adventure Glutton for his unquenchable thirst and insatiable hunger for adventure. At first, I was too floored to say anything.

“Prostate cancer is slow-growing, right?” I finally said. “And you caught it early, right?” I was grasping for positives based on the little I knew about the disease.

“Well, yes and no,” Rob clarified. “It can be slow-growing. I had a biopsy done, and prostate cancer is classified by what’s called a Gleason score, which rates its aggressiveness, from a low of 2 to a maximum of 10. I had a Gleason score of 9, with nearly all cells they biopsied being cancerous.”