'MERICA!

Hello Everyone, The other night I hung out with some Virginia farmboys on a hill facing the Teton mountains. While "Virginia farmboy" is sometimes slang for "CIA agent", according to the Mission Impossible movies, these were, in fact, a couple of guys from rural Virginia. Or so they said... As an aside, hands down the greatest state motto is "Virginia is for lovers". That is just pure gold. Anyway, these guys were curious to hear some observations about the differences between our two countries. That's a big question, especially with two very large and diverse nations. But almost immediately an obvious one jumped to mind: easily more than half of the motorcyclists I see here don't wear helmets. The guys laughed at that, and we made a bunch of jokes about freedom and 'merica. Interestingly, there is no gender imbalance in those engaging in this kind of behaviour. While most motorcyclists are men, those women who do ride are no more likely to be wearing any kind of brain protection. Chalk one up for feminism. On that note, for the third time in the past month, I've come upon some people horseback riding. In all cases, it's been a couple of women out on the trails. It's cool to see, and I imagine it's a lot of fun, but holy hell, none of those women are wearing helmets either. And it's not like horses are known for their cool, rational approach to things. I wear a helmet every single time I ride my bike, and it only does what I make it do. A horse has it's own idiot brain giving it instructions. And lest you think I'm being harsh on what are, in general, lovely creatures, this latest group of horses got spooked by my bicycle. Not while I was riding it, mind you. Just, my bicycle. The story is as follows: about mid way on a trail that followed a creek up into a canyon, I came upon a pair of horseback riders. They actually had three horses between them, the last being older and just out for a stroll. They had a couple of dogs with them as well, and after Arthur had made their acquaintance, I pulled off to the side, laid my bike down and held my companion. But the first horse wouldn't pass. It would take a couple of tentative steps, stretch its neck out and sniff towards my bike, then spin around in a start and try to run away. We were in a narrow section of the trail, with steep banks on one side and thick brush leading down to the creek on the other. Having a terrified tank of an animal in this space was a bit concerning, but the ladies in the saddle were quite skilled. After a couple of attempts to get by, the rider figured that my holding the bike might help. I trusted Arthur to keep his cool while the horses went by, so I let go of him and picked up my bike. The simple act of holding it changed everything for this horse. The strange object was no longer threatening, it was just another weird thing humans had. The second horse was having none of it though. He was younger, and as far as he was concerned, that bike was dangerous, human holding it or not. The lady had to get off and pull him by the reins to get by, and he still took a fit when he passed. The third horse was an older mare, and she also had to be pulled across, but not because she was at all frightened. She could not care less about me, my bike, or the dogs. There was grass to eat at this spot, and all this commotion with the younger horses meant she had time to much away. She stood there, eating the late summer grass contentedly until the second lady came back and pulled her through. I may have found my spirit animal. Wes 

Photos 

They are a little jumbled up in terms of order. The first and third are from my campsite last night. We stayed by a lake about 30 miles from Jackson. 

The second and fourth are from the trail we rode, mentioned above. We made it all the way up to a clear alpine lake. Arthur swam around a bit, then we turned around and headed back.