Riggins

The fishermen were up with the dawn, meticulously fine-tuning the drag on their reels, while the sun gently kissed the very tops of the hills surrounding Riggins, Idaho. Zzzzzzz. Zzzzzzz. But wait a minute! Why would fisher folks be up at the crack of dawn, pulling line out of their reels with such gusto, creating that unmistakable zzzzzzz sound?

Ross sat bolt upright, and I felt the need to demystify the source of our morning symphony. “This lube is the real deal. Can you believe this chain is still slick after 50 miles in the desert?” I nudged the chain forward to tend to another section. Zzzzzzz. The freehub hummed a melody akin to a cyclist coasting down a hill, then fell silent.

“This morning, I stepped outside, and the first thing that caught my eye,” I said, flinging the window open to reveal a hillside cradled by a trail snaking up the ridge. “Just feast your eyes on that trail.”