The Truth About Kayaks

Kayaks have been gain­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty in recent years as the most pop­u­lar form of trans­porta­tion amongst city-dwelling mil­len­ni­als.

You see them every­where.


On bill­boards. On street signs. Crawl­ing through the rivers and the pave­ment. But what lurks in the recess­es of that hol­low hull?


I decid­ed to find out for myself. I rent­ed a kayak in Times Square.


I had been told by locals that rent­ing a kayak would be easy. After all, hun­dreds are rent­ed each day in Times Square alone. How­ev­er, upon approach­ing the kayak rental tent under­neath the third shut­tle track, I did not expect the rit­u­al I had to under­go to take a kayak from the grips of these loath­some sub­ter­ranean deal­ers. Caked in dirt and some­thing that may have either been thick, inhu­man blood or some sort of pas­try fill­ing (I now believe they may not be mutu­al­ly exclu­sive,) they demand­ed I pay with some­thing inde­scrib­able. I pro­duced an object, and it dis­ap­peared in crim­son smoke.


When I woke up, I had my kayak, and I was well on my way down Broad­way. My legs and feet were work­ing, but not for me. The kayak was lead­ing the way.


We final­ly arrived at the Port Author­i­ty, but not one with which I was in any way famil­iar. This was not the bus sta­tion or any oth­er known Port Author­i­ty build­ing. Instead, we arrived at a sin­gu­lar stat­ue — the true author­i­ty of all ports. It had a gap­ing hole for a face, and as I peered in, I felt invit­ed to step in, so I did.


I had just stepped into the kayak. I scarce­ly had time to adjust my under­stand­ing of the posi­tion­ing of the flipped hori­zon when it lurched for­ward and a mechan­i­cal grind filled my ears like a land­slide of grav­el­ly ear­wax. I was kayak­ing, and my pad­dle was in my hands.


Now, a nor­mal cit­i­zen may have been con­tent with this, and thus accli­mat­ed to the real­i­ties of kayak­ing in a mod­ern and bustling city, but I did not for­get my true job of being an inves­tiga­tive reporter. So, with great dif­fi­cul­ty, I lurched my tor­so such that I could peer over the side and under­neath the mas­sive flesh-filled ves­sel and came upon a star­tling dis­cov­ery.


I had always thought that kayaks were pow­ered by the pad­dle, but it was just an illu­sion. Now I knew the truth about the Gear.


The Gear, a large, wide, deep-toothed iron gear weath­ered by sand and soul, promi­nent­ly pro­trud­ed from the bot­tom of my kayak. It was sit­u­at­ed in such a way that a mun­dane kayak­er would nev­er notice its pres­ence. How bliss­ful­ly igno­rant those kayak­ers were, going about their pad­dling busi­ness, unaware of the hulk­ing met­al appa­ra­tus under their entombed low­er body. It drew me in, its form undu­lat­ing and vary­ing in width in geo­met­ri­cal­ly impos­si­ble ways. I came clos­er and clos­er until my nose near­ly scraped its ter­ri­ble teeth. My tor­so was at its lim­its, even with the exten­sions I had sur­gi­cal­ly added sev­er­al years pri­or. I could go no fur­ther, but I could not draw myself away. I held my posi­tion, trans­fixed, until the kayak came to a stop.


We reached our des­ti­na­tion — a mas­sive build­ing as black as the star­less onyx sky above, illu­mi­nat­ed dim­ly at alter­nat­ing points on the sides of its steep face. All kayak rides end there, accord­ing to some locals who mur­mured this infor­ma­tion repeat­ed­ly to me from beyond a shroud. My kayak dis­ap­peared and half of my object was returned to me, lodged in my hand for eter­ni­ty. I felt a pull to walk in, but I resist­ed, for my integri­ty as a jour­nal­ist was stronger than the pull of the House, and I knew I had fin­ished my field work and it was time to write this very account.


If you are think­ing of kayak­ing in the near future, remem­ber your inde­scrib­able item, and more impor­tant­ly, look for The Gear. Your life will change for the bet­ter.


But if you are already a kayak­er, it is per­haps best to not look for The Gear. Your life is already as it should be.


Your binds will only tight­en.

That is the word of The Gear.