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I concocted a ridiculous itinerary in an effort to satisfy everyone. I would shove off from the confluence of the Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers on April 15, return to Saint Paul from southwestern Minnesota two weeks later for Gemma’s high school graduation, resume paddling for three weeks, and return home from the Canadian border for Martha’s 14th birthday. Then I would go back to the river for three weeks, return home from northern Manitoba for Malcolm’s 7th birthday, put in four more weeks on the river, and return home again on August 6, for Allison’s 18th birthday. Finally, I would return to northern Manitoba for the last weeks of the trip, which I hoped to finish before Malcolm’s first day of school, just after Labor Day.

When I described this plan to my old friend Kocher, hoping to find validation, he raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think you should leave from Minneapolis. José isn’t going to tolerate paddling upstream on the Minnesota River for three weeks. It will take you five days just to make Mankato, which is only an hour’s drive from here. What’s to stop him from calling one of his homies at that point and arranging for a pickup.”