Occupation of Independence

  Since my old sweetheart will be headed for doggie heaven in a few months, I started to look into getting my third -- and probably last -- dog. My goodness, it is discouraging. Go to the usual websites and all you will see is pit bull mixes, huskies, Great Pyrenees, German shepherds, etc.  Of course, their inventory is dominated by dogs that people don't want -- the desirable dogs practically sell themselves. I wonder if they even make a new entry in the website when a dog comes in that will "sell" in 24 hours?  It is difficult to think without making generalizations about breeds. You do have to start somewhere. As the process goes on, you have to remind yourself that you are adopting a specific individual, not a statistical generalization. A visitor to my camp once upon a time, who was an extreme example of the difference between an individual and a breed-stereotype. This time around I won't spend much effort researching dog breeds. I did the first time around, b

Once again I was on a old Wagon Trail in southwestern Wyoming, and there was no signage. And once again, I appreciated the lack of signage. Previously, crossing the ridge on mountain bike had proved too difficult -- this time, walking would have to do. After parking the van and starting off, these guys immediately showed themselves.  Naturally there was water nearby to attract these two bull mooses. (And I refuse to leave off the 's' for plurals when referring to deer, elk, moose, sheep, etc.) It was surprising to see how black they were -- I thought mooses were dark brown. They were wary of me and kept an eye on me. I froze, and let them walk off. The trail in the background is not the old Wagon Trail, as I first thought. It seemed right to demand a refund from Ward Bond. Still, the real trail was steeper than any pioneer wanted. But it wasn't the steepness that was so bad -- it was the 170 years of erosion on the trail! There were only short sections that could be biked.

  Ahh dear, I was so looking forward to getting back to the north for my second summer in a row. Does southwestern Wyoming count as "north"? The air will just get worse towards Idaho, since it is in the "smoke shadow" of northern California fires, as well as Idaho fires.   Next summer I won't be campground hosting, so I will go to the Northwest about 15 May, and leave 10 July or whenever the wildfire season kicks up. That way I will avoid the fire season (early summer) in the Southwest and the fire season in the Northwest. After leaving the smokey Northwest, I will head south, very slowly.  On the internet, travelers tend to say disparaging things about Wyoming. They probably hang out on Interstate 80 too much. Or they complain about the wind, which is understandable. But the wind dies down in late summer. A breeze is a nice thing -- it means you can camp out in direct sunlight, without trees, and you will stay reasonably comfortable.  There is always a great d

  This was the place where the old Wagon Trail was supposed to cross the road. The word "Gap" on a map has a certain attraction. Some government agency had done a good job with a plaque. But that was it -- there was no other signage. It is possible to learn to like that. Of course it means that you are not quite sure where you are going. I biked in the direction that the plaque suggested. Maybe. Without any signs spilling out the answer, all I could do was look at the land. I was trapped between two high ridges, both of which went north/south -- bad luck for the pioneers who were headed west. But the geography was so lucky. There really was a smooth, gentle, green gap through the ridge -- almost like a swale. Their stock animals could graze through the gap. A trickle of water flowed. This is not tourist scenery. You can only appreciate its "beauty" when you are struggling to cross the land under your own (or an animal's) power, and when you are looking for grass

Despite my paean to gravel roads in the last post, it seemed prudent to pull off onto a dry spot when hard rain started. I chose a flat area at the top of a hill, since it seemed well drained and grassy. Further on, I might have gotten suckered into crossing a creek, like those fools in the videos of AZ floods. So I just sat in the van and gawked with astonishment at the hard rain. I had forgotten how scary lightning can be. The next morning it was mostly sunny, but the air was still damp. The nearby ridge was visible now -- and green and lovely. The wind and sun were doing their best to dry the ground, so I probably wouldn't get stuck trying to leave. Memory of that morning will probably last for the rest of my life. It was fine.