There are few more quintessentially summer activities than floating the river. (Which river depends on your geography, but that’s how it’s always referred to. Floating THE river.)

For me, it was the Huzzah River in Missouri (where I went to college). Huzzah couldn’t have been a more perfect name for a more perfect time. The third-degree sunburns, the ridiculous outfits, the river folk you were destined to encounter (they probably had fins), the rickety old school buses that drove you down to the launch area.

Everyone’s got their own float traditions, but my favorite was the one corner we turned every year, when everyone was flung to one side of that teetering bus, and the beer spitting would begin. I don’t know now how I didn’t notice the preparation my first year — everyone taking long, nonchalant swigs just before that bend, waiting to unload on their friends once the river came into view.

My second year, I was ready. I filled my cheeks without distending them, puckered up to a senior and when he leaned in to give me a peck on the mouth, exploded. It. Was. Perfect.

Whatever your memories or traditions, whether you’re an old pro or a floating frosh, don’t hit the river without reading this.

River fashion is different — Expect jorts, crocs and lots of American flag paraphernalia. Bandanas are your friend. If you can find a swimsuit that combines both the colors of the flag and the logo of a national brewer, you rule the river.

Understand the visual properties of a tent lit from within — Lights off, folks — unless you want a circle of lawn chair spectators and fodder for future blackmail.

Multiply by three — Count your crew, make careful estimates of how much food and alcohol you’ll need, and multiply that by three. A village of tents is another dimension, where normal rules of consumption simply do not apply. The same rule goes for coolers. You’ll need three: One for food, one for beer, and one for the Jello shots. Trust.

Get used to the pants-down pee —Girls, brace yourself for lots of man tush. Men, for some reason, think that showcasing their Casper-white rears to the world is hilarious. And the funny apparently increases exponentially with the number of guys they can get involved. This phenomenon necessitates further study.

Bring jumper cables — I don’t care how powerful your stand-alone iPod speakers are (or understand why you’d bring them on a float trip) — you’ll need one person to sacrifice their car battery for the musical enlightenment of the group. And you’ll need to give them a jump on the last day. They have to get home.

Fungi does not make you a fun guy — It’s all fun and games when you’re giggling with your friends and breaking into the weekend supply of Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches, but it’s another story when you’re having to be talked down from a tree or convinced that the river water is not, in fact, mercury. Or so I’ve heard. (That stuff will melt your skin off).

Float on, folks.