Rivers used to be the superhighways, all a-bustle with barges, skiffs, scows, dories, dhows, dinghies, pontoons, ferries, galleons, yawls, ketches, sloops, schooners, and all other manner of floating fandangoes. Now the superhighways rumble across the rivers on bulked-up bridges, and the rivers are reborn as quiet, liquid, mystical veins of crinkled continents. The River: an off-the-beaten-path place of refuge . . . where seekers celebrate the marriage of solitude and surprise.
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