harryhero

Harry Hero is a collaborative family writing project. He began as typing practice for author #6 in the mid-seventies. Authors M, 1, 4, 5, 7, spontaneously and sarcastically contributed until Harry took on a life and momentum of his own. He was reborn as a Christmas project in the early nineties and again as a web project in the new millennium. Once more Harry has risen from near tragic and certain literary deaths to live again as blog practice. Bulwer-Lytton judges take note.

About Me

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It seems I have suffered and survived a few insults and injuries to my cranium, thus my memory does not lend itself to one seamless life I could call my own. Instead, my life seems to be one dim episode after another documented by a random and rather odd conglomeration of assorted biographers who, for some bizarre reason, seem compelled to document my trials as if I were a remarkable hero. Heroism can take many forms. Perhaps it is finding fresh strawberries in November for the Manhattan socialite's crepes as she breaks her fast. Perhaps it is found in a multitude of skills, lucky breaks and death defying feats. It may be true that piloting my faithful rig, Betsy, through the Canadian Rockies is not for the weak of spirit, mind or body; I claim no special talents other than devoted love and endless hope. Love of a good truck, a good cup coffee and a good adventure. Hope of self-actualization and...Sophie? If you desire a chronological –not necessarily logical- plotline begin reading at the January 26 2006 post - The Not So Constant Gardener - and follow subsequent postings to present day.

Blog Archive

Friday, March 03, 2006

Way down upon the Milky River


Harry spun himself around on the stool by the damp pink counter. There was the unfinished business of a kayak race to conduct, and now was the time to do it! Harry threw open the door to the coffee shop, forgetting about the door’s spring loaded hinges.
Then it hit him! The shortest distance between two points is a straight line! Dr. Maybe was going to try to escape across the mighty Milk River with his short but muscular legs!

Out of nowhere or somewhere, …does it matter?….Betsy purred. Harry leapt inside the cab, forgetting the fiver, forgetting the bottle green eyes, and forgetting Sophie. His heart swelled with love and appreciation. Betsy. He kissed the steering wheel and took a deep breath as he reached under the seat: duct tape, trench coat, power bar, spare clothes, nail clippers…come on…Gasiorowicz, Quantum Physics, 3rd ed. ...where is it…?... and… KEY! Yes! Time stands still, then warps out to a slow crawl. He is focused, completely in the moment. Doing a rockfish turn, he peels out of the parking lot and peppers the coffee shop with rock spray. (Modified MacDonald caper, as Buck used to call it.) Off to the World Cup Canoe/Kayak races…Dr. Maybe looks like Barbara Bush in a mini as he struggles with the spray skirt. Harry grabs a maverick C1, knowing the canoe was the more maneuverable boat. Using his ubiquitous trench coat and handy duct tape, he whips up a spray skirt faster than Christian Dior whips up an Oscar gown. He launches himself into the foaming white “stick to your upper lip” Milk River.


Slipping like ‘Nessie’ through the rapids (stopping to surf the gnarly ones), he soon spots his nemesis struggling in an eddy line. He runs circles around him for a while, but not being able to withhold the competitive urge, Harry sprints across the finish line, raising his paddle in victory! Oops! He loses his balances and flips over! A bullet whizzes by. While inverted, the foaming water reminds him of the time when….



To be continued…
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