The only good thing about the D.C. area’s notorious summer heat and humidity is that it forces us to adopt a slower pace. In the dog days of summer, many people brave the lanes of traffic heading for the ocean, but a less frenetic exodus involves going to inland waterways. During an especially tedious stretch of 90+ degree days last August, we put on our swimsuits and drove to Harpers Ferry, only an hour’s drive away. Our object? To do very little that day other than float down a cool, quiet river.

Several river outfitters in Harpers Ferry offer river tubing packages, but we picked River and Trail Outfitters, a family-run operation that’s been in business for several decades. They offer two tubing trips: an escorted trip on Antietam Creek that includes some minor rapids, and a "flat water" unescorted trip on a quiet stretch of the Shenandoah. The Shenandoah float sounded more our speed, more laid-back and private than a group trip, plus it was remarkably affordable at $18, which included equipment rental and transportation.

After only a few minutes’ preparation, we were soon in the company shuttle van headed for the drop-off point. Along the way, we chatted with the amiable driver, a free-spirited fellow who was spending the summer camped near the drop-off point, running the shuttle and supervising operations from the banks of the Shenandoah. Not a bad way to spend a summer, I reflected. He showed us where the take-out point was and gave us a few pointers on how to recognize it from the river, then drove us several miles upstream . We each donned a life vest and were issued an enormous green tube. The tubes were a pleasant surprise, as they had plastic bottoms, making it easier to get in and out and protecting our bottoms from rocks.

Soon we drifting lazily down the Shenandoah, which was remarkably clear and clean smelling. As there hadn’t been much rain, the current was gentle; at times it seemed that we were scarcely moving. The initial temptation was to paddle with feet and hands, but this was generally an unproductive exercise, producing little forward motion. And what, I mused, was the point of going faster?There is no hurrying a river. It goes at its own pace, a pace older than the surrounding mountains.

The next few hours stand out in my mind as a crystallization of all that is best on a river. The sun shone benignly, dappling the water with pools of gold through the canopy of trees. Bird song punctuated the rich murmur of the Shenandoah. A heron accompanied us a good way downstream, while fat fish swam insolently nearby. Feathery water plants tickled our feet. Our worries floated off behind us. Life was good.