Riding

By Ina Pockrass

“TIME IS A RIVER WHICH CARRIES ME ALONG, BUT I AM THE RIVER;
IT 1S A TIGER THAT DEVOURS ME, BUT 1 AM THE TIGER; IT IS A FIRE

THAT CONSUMES ME, BUT 1 AM THE FIRE.”

JORGE LUIS BORGES

n the mid-1980s, after my second year of law school,
I was working as a Summer Associate in a law firm,
hoping to be offered permanent employment after
graduation. As a perk, they took us by luxury bus
from San Francisco to the American River for an after-
noon of inner tubing, bonding and beer. Instructions
were limited: “When you get to the rapids, make sure
you go down feet first.” No life vests were provided.
The first hour, the river was as easy as a Ferris wheel
at a summer fair. Then we entered a long, swift patch
that exceeded my skill level. I paddled with my short
arms as fast as I could in the white water, trying to steer