Occupation of Independence

At the moment I am awe-struck by some clouds despite them being completely un-pretty, visually. Clouds are the most under-rated gifts of Nature, at least to a gringo in the Southwest in late May or June, before the monsoons bring salvation. What can clouds be compared to? All I know is that my eyes and skin are overwhelmed by a feeling of gentleness and kindness. As I finished my bicycle ride this morning, I passed a female cyclist who didn't seem like she did much riding. But she sure looked happy. Later she told me that she hadn't been on the bike for a long time, and that she loved the clouds. I had to agree.

We've all heard people tell their "lucky" stories: they were in the right spot at the right time, and got some unbelievable deal on a used car, or met some gorgeous girl who had broken up recently, or got hired to some really cool job. In general, such stories are disgusting; they never happen to you or me. The other day I reached the top of our highest "XYZ Foothills" type subdivision, on my bicycle. Many times I've felt lust and frustration for a connection between the high-altitude dead-end of that subdivision and nearby dirt roads over mountains in the national forest. But I never found access. Lust? Well yes, lust, covetousness, growling-desire. A mountain biker must not be the only savant who experiences these feelings over topography: horsemen must, as well; perhaps even jeepers and ATVers do,

The month of May has found me as a professional tour guide, by my usual standards. Currently I am hosting the fourth RV-blogger visitor to the Little Pueblo. Quite early in the process I realized how difficult it is to be a good tour guide. My own interest in anything is primarily based on its experiential context, not on its purely visual appeal, and never on its appeal when looked at through a windshield. And say what they will, travelers tend to exist on a visual level more so than a resident. Take, for example, a big hole in the ground. Its chances of being put on a calendar sold by the Sierra Club are not so good. But the terror I feel around old mine shafts makes it one of the most powerful experiences that I ever have in the great Outdoors. I knew of a local legend, a steel net, that masked off a vertical mine shaft. It had taken two years to find it in the old mining area that stands over the Little Pueblo. During that two years, the idea of a bottomless mine shaft became