I found Dwayne and Isabel huddled under an umbrella as I crossed the bridge to Brown’s Island. It was noon on Saturday and the James River Adventure Games were well underway, but all I could see were people seeking shade beneath tents and congregating around the water misters.

We shouted our hellos over the blaring announcements coming from the stage, where several rows of kids in bike helmets were pledging their allegiance to staying safe and keeping active.

As we wandered out into the blazing sun, Isabel pulled a schedule of events from her purse and unfolded it.

“I want to try out the kayaks!” She said, leading the way to the Brown’s Island canal.

“You don’t want to take on the class IV rapids with the SEAL trainers?” I asked.

We saw several people in kayaks rowing lazily back and forth on the still waters of the canal. “No, this looks more my speed.”

As we leaned against the railings, waiting our turn, Dwayne pointed down into the water. “Look at the size of that turtle!”

I looked over. “That’s a rock!”

“No way! That’s totally a turtle.”

“It’s not moving. It’s a rock!”

Some of the other people in line joined the debate, including a police officer who lent me his polarized sunglasses to cut the glare of the water.

“Ok! Ok!” I conceded, handing back his sunglasses “It’s a turtle!” When he walked away, I turned to Dwayne. “I still think it’s a rock!”

When it was finally our turn, we filled out our safety waivers and donned our life-jackets, lest we be attacked by fork-tailed swallows or drown in the shallow water. When we boarded our bright yellow banana-shaped boats and shoved off, our shoes and shorts became soaked, instantly.

I rowed easily and immediately over to the spot by the railings and looked down. The rock in question had still not moved. I sunk my paddle into the water and nudged it.

“See! I told you it was a— HOLY CRAP!”

The rock, having had quite enough of my poking and prodding, lunged forward suddenly and nearly scared me out of my boat. I rowed away and quickly regained my composure. “You were right Dwayne, it was a turtle!”

Noticing that the line for boats was growing, we cut our excursion short and went ashore. By the time we’d reached the top of the hill, our shorts were nearly dry.

We sought shelter in the shade of some tall sycamores, where a short canine obstacle course had been erected. We watched as Frankie, an energetic dachshund, wound through the cones and scampered skillfully across a teeter-totter. More dogs followed, competing for a year’s supply of dog chow courtesy of Breeder’s Choice.

“Aren’t there some sporting events we’re supposed to be watching?” I asked as we browsed the freebies and give-aways at the booths lined along the grass.

Dwayne shrugged, “Most of that was this morning. We missed it. The triathlon isn’t until tomorrow. I think we can try out the mountain bikes.”

We approached the YeRen Outdoor Outfitters Bicycle area, where several racks were packed with bikes. Unfortunately, they were only renting bikes for use on the trails and none of us had the energy or funds for that sort of commitment.

We began tossing a free PetCo frisbee back and forth across the grass. but soon tired in the heat and the sun.

“That’s it for me.” said Isabel “I’m done.”

“Me too,” said Dwayne, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I’m not sticking around for the bands or the fireworks.”

“Me either. Let’s go!” That’s the beauty of a free event, no guilt for leaving early.

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