Occupation of Independence

This part of Idaho was certainly making me regret not getting a cargo trailer with interior wheel wells. The gravel road through the canyon was about 1.5 lanes wide, and there were few wide-spots or turn-arounds. So how do you play a messy situation like this? I wanted to go along with it to a certain extent without getting reckless. But remember, you don't quite know you have pushed your luck too far until it is too late. So I started playing "leapfrog" with the canyon: stopping at the wide spots, and walking until I found the next wide spot. Doing all these round trips soon adds up to a lot of walking. But my dog, Coffee Girl, thought this was quite fun. It is funny how your confidence grows as you punch your way through a canyon. I found a small field where I could camp for the night. It was perfectly solitary and quiet. The lack of an internet signal probably helped as a mood-enhancer. A raptor of some kind flew along the wall of the V-shaped canyon. The canyon held

 I heard somebody whimpering while sitting inside my van while parked in a town on the old Oregon/California Trail. Then I heard it again. It seemed to be coming from a large pickup truck parked next to me. Inside, an eight-week-old puppy jumped around on the front seats. He saw me immediately and held my gaze, as if he needed something. He looked to be a cross between a blue heeler and an Australian shepherd. His pickup truck was labelled Something-Or-Other Cattle Ranch, somewhere in Idaho. Why did this affect me so much? It was more than cuteness -- many young animals are cute. Hell, even baby javelinas are a little bit cute. Perhaps I have run across a biography once or twice when the story starts off "in the crib" and contrasts the helplessness of the baby with the man's reputation and accomplishments or even crimes in mature life. Sheer contrast of that type can leave an impression that lasts. In a couple years this puppy will be a serious professional ranch dawg, ex

Humans do seem to have stubborn predispositions. Children would rather eat dessert before their vegetables. Adolescents have difficulty thinking that something is more important about a potential sweetheart than their physical appearance. And outdoorsmen have their stubborn inclinations. A beginner wants loop routes instead of out-and-backs. Sheer necessity made me adapt to an out-and-back mindset. After all, most spur roads deadend halfway up a mountain, while the loop routes are full of motor-crazed yahoos. I am still surprised (and happy) that I was able to make that transition. But one predisposition remained: beginning a trip by pedaling uphill, getting the required dosage, enjoying the view at the top, and then coasting back down. This pattern worked so well because the sweaty ascents were in the cool of the morning, and the descents were in warmer air. And there is something pleasing about looking forward to 'eating your dessert' after you have finished the hard work fir

There was supposed to be a spring on the ride today. I certainly hoped so, since I had biked downhill from my ridgetop aerie to creek level. It would be quite a grunt to get back to camp. The creek was turning into a pretty good sized tributary of the Green River, in western Wyoming. The forest service is wonderful here. There was virtually no signage. When I finally got to a little parking lot for the spring, nobody was there. You had to want to find it -- you couldn't just be a tourist rushing to their next scenic delight. That might sound like a little thing, but it feeds a mood that you can love. I left my mountain bike in the parking lot, unguarded, unlocked, and walked to the spring.  It actually seemed like a mountain stream at first. Quite noisy.  But all that water was coming from one crack in the mountain side, where the water gushed out without any moiling riffles:  I am almost glad -- I said "almost" -- for the ghastly drought, and for admitting how horrible i

The delicious rain had ended by morning. It had been replaced by fog. The drought had gone on so long, that I had forgotten what fog was like. It had become almost exotic. Out of that fog rode a man on horseback. He cut quite an impressive figure. Playing a hunch I said "only one dog today," in Spanish. He understood. But my Spanish has weakened over the years since I have stopped going to Mexico in my RV. Indeed he was a pastor, a shepherd, and was from Peru. He was here for cinco meses, five months. A previous summer he had worked near Elko, Nevada. But he wasn't just visiting me on a social call. He pulled out several batteries that needed recharging. How ironic! This hombre lived in a tent for those five months, rather primitively, in a manner reminiscent of the 1800s; perhaps as primitive as the pioneers who traveled the valley a few miles from this ridge, on their way to Oregon or California. Yet he had two Samsung smartphones that needed recharging. He also had