I thought it was a really good idea. I’d told Rob many times, my goal wasn’t just to survive the Grand Canyon. You don’t learn much from barely surviving, from squeaking through by the skin of your teeth. I wanted to earn the right to be there, to take everything the river could throw at me, and thrive in that frenzied environment.

So for eleven days, we went down the canyon in a giant thirty-seven-foot J-rig, two giant inflatable tubes connected by a welded metal frame. Rob said it looked like a pack of hot dogs. The boat had a thirty-horsepower motor, just enough power to thrust its snout in the right direction as it blasted through rapids. The river guides had drawn out a map for Rob with the rapids I might like to try. The boat would motor us through the flat sections, and just as the roar came into range, we’d slither into our kayaks and seal launch off the side tubes, dropping into the white water. I can’t say I was excelling, but I was pleasantly surprised that I survived some of the giants.

One of the big tests was Granite. No two rapids are alike. Each has its own distinct character. Some are like riding massive ocean swells so steep they crest, collapse, and crash over you. Some rapids present a massive hole that must be avoided at all costs, and others are a one-two punch and then you’re through. But Granite was known for being violent. There was no gentle bobbing through splashy waves with a “Yee-haw!” at the bottom. On the river map the guides had sketched for Rob, one of them had written, “Granite: Erik will flip at least twice and will emerge upside down.”

When Rob read me those notes, I felt sick. And, it turns out, they weren’t exaggerating. I paddled into Granite and it was like riding the back of a Tyrannosaurus rex, mad and foaming with rage. The smooth tongue was deceptive as it led me downward and abruptly spilled me over a huge drop, right into a maelstrom. A succession of lateral waves immediately blasted over me from both sides, striking me like fists. The massive waves crashed against the right wall and smashed back at me. I was punched by waves coming from the left. Then from the right again, and then more lefts. As I furiously hurled my body back and forth, bracing my paddle against the laterals, I was simultaneously diving into deep, gaping holes that, like the mouth of a T. rex, grabbed and tried to chew off the bow of my boat.