Occupation of Independence

  Lately I have been on a streak of underestimating the land and trails around me, and was aware of it. So today we chose a small cliff/ridge only 50 yards from my campsite. I expected it to be a nice place to walk my dog, Coffee Girl, but nothing more. But the sandstone rocks were surprisingly tough to climb. Fortunately they were so grippy that I felt like Spiderman on them. It was probably a foolish place for a geezer to playing around, so I took it slow. Coffee Girl wanted nothing to do with those rocks. Dogs are not good technical climbers. She skulked off, looking frightened and worried. All of her life she has been a bit of a Nervous Nellie. Actually it was fun to grab a sandstone hand-grip and launch up the rocks. I can see why people take up rock climbing. It is more engaging, mentally and emotionally, than sports that are merely aerobic. Where did Coffee Girl go anyway? Back home? As I got near the top I started dreading the sound of a dog falling and hurting herself. What a

Every beginner at camping has had the same type of bemusing experience. Typically it happens in the empty corner of a Walmart parking lot. But it could be at a truck stop or a mostly empty national forest campground. The camper is delighted to be camping alone, that is, free of noisy neighbors.  Then some interloper (invader) moves in surprisingly close, despite the fact that there was plenty of room to space out. That brings us to what happened today: we were a bit nervous to be camping in the real world again, after the bliss of camping in empty land to the north. "Real world" means a place known to everybody thanks to the blabbermouth "where to camp free" websites.  We made an excellent choice on an empty road, with some visual interest and with good places to ride, nearby. The scheme was to 'monopolize' the two end campsites on this dead-end road; that is, we took the two sites even though we could have fit in just one. In the Olde Days, taking just one

  It was quite a view from the knoll I was camping on. It has always surprised me how little altitude you need to open up the landscape. The view was mostly of Wyoming cattle country, mesas, river valleys, and antelopes. To the south were the Uintah Mountains, covered with yellow aspen. What is more miraculous is how uncrowded and untouristy it was. It was possible to relax, without fearing that a late-arriving camper was going to move in close and start slamming car doors.  Off in the distance, a couple miles from my knoll, a herd of 15 horses ran parallel to the foot of the mesa. They looked like fast-moving white dots. What a contrast between their furious motion and their near-anonymity,  since they were so tiny visually and were almost lost in a vast landscape. What a classic image of the olde West! If only I had been closer to their path on my mountain bike! Why were they galloping along, anyway? Ahh dear, there is so much about animals and land that I don't know. I've re

To a photographer it would be hard to beat the works of ancient Rome when it comes to water.  But a mountain biker in the western states might find other "hydrology" projects more interesting, such as the remains of an "ancient" project I stumbled across recently in southeastern Idaho.   The interest came from the surprise-factor and the endorphins, of course, not from its value as a tourist postcard. It was cute that the local towns boasted of soda springs and hot springs. But it has started a theme for me: to appreciate springs where water flows out of the ground. This started in Wyoming a few weeks ago. Then it continued into Idaho, and now back to Wyoming, yesterday. We were "mesa-bagging", as opposed to the more conventional "peak-bagging." It seemed early for the aspens to turn yellow.  Perhaps drought brings on fall colors earlier. Drought isn't all bad if it helps you appreciate running water. We followed a surprise descent off the m