We made the trip to Kansas without Mr.B. The good thing was, since we got back, he has not touched the playstation. I have a feeling they became very close while we were gone. Marci and I drove down Tuesday, got there in the evening, and the plan was to come back the next day. The next day was so windy and hot, it just put everyone into a bad mood in no time. My father in law had agreed to pull the boat to Colorado, while Marci and I followed in his car, and he decided, as badly as he wanted to leave Western Kansas, there was no was no way he was pulling the boat through wind we could hardly walk straight in. We spent the day loading everything we might possibly need (and several things we couldnt possibly) into the boat, and left the next morning.

It was an odd experience for me, being one of the girls. We slept in the house Kayla is renting in town, and went to bed far too late. I slept on the couch, which I rather enjoy for some reason, and have not done for four years. Mr.B. agreed, when I got home, that while he missed me, it was kind of nice being able to play at being his own man for a few days.

The other day, I tightened my hiking shoes, packed a backpack with the essentials, and did some for-real hiking on the trail by our place. It took me about three miles into the Eagles Nest Wilderness, and it was only on the way back I discovered how faintly the way home was marked. The mosquitos held a banquet on my arms and legs as I took first one wrong trail, then another. But now I know the trail which leads out is not marked at all. I did not realize that on the way in. The evening was getting rather chilly as I dragged my aching heels out of the forest, and signed out of the wilderness registry. I am a flatlander. The mountains are never comforting or safe for me. My forays into them are driven by a need to be awed and scared, rather than a need to spend time alone, or to feel sheltered. They are always borderline menacing, and I walk quietly, and feel small. I have no desire to master them in all the ways people do, by climbing them, by photographing them, by walking the entire length of them. I face my fears there, but always there is the knowledge that I am indeed taking my life in my hands, and if something should happen to me out there, my family may not have the closure of knowing what became of me. It really does make me a little nervous to hike alone. But it is hike alone or stay home. What's a girl to do?

Yesterday, I finally convinced my husband to take a partial day off. It has been fourteen days straight for him, putting out fires, appeasing guests, juggling maintenance items and the various contractors who can take care of them. I almost had to get really demanding to get him to do it, but in the afternoon we loaded the bikes onto the jeep and drove to Keystone. The plan was to jeep to a good bike trail, then get out and ride, but the more ground we covered in the jeep, the less we felt like biking, so the bikes stayed on the Jeep and bounced over ruts and rocks and through trees with us. It was fascinating driving over the runs we ride over in the winter, and know every curve, every bump, every drop. In the summer, they are a jumble of rocks and small trees, and unimaginably steep. How on earth do we straightline them?

We did unload our bikes when we got back to Keystone proper, and took them on a dusty singletrack through the sagebrush and wildflowers. It was a nice easy ride, although threatened by an approaching thunderstorm. The last portion followed a trail used by the Keystone Stables, much to the disgust of Mr.B., who does not hold the same fond memories involving the smell of horse poop that I do. It's sad, I know, that such a pungent odor could instantly take me back to some of the best, and worst times of my life. Did I really spend two years coming to an understanding with that feisty sorrel mare? Another two aboard that massive thouroughbred gelding? And the sweet little appaloosa, who was never mine, but lived at my house to keep the other two company, who was completely blind, but trusted me implicitly whenever we left the corral... I really miss 'em. That's the person I wanted to be. Too bad I had to grow up.