Post #1629517

@benroyce About 20 years ago, I was on a cross-country motorcycle trip, ascending the western side of the Bighorn Mountains in Wyoming, cautiously going through one switchback after another, passing RVs on their way down burning their brake pads, trying not to let vertigo take over every time the road in front of me turned into (as Arlo Guthrie put it) a cliff and some air. I reached the plateau, and there was one nice, lazy curve in front of me, so I laid on the throttle and leaned into it. Oh wait, hang on, there's a CATTLE GRATE? In the apex of a curve? What the hell? Hit the brakes, get the bike upright, cross the cattle grate, and resume, while looking back and thinking "Who the hell puts a cattle grate in the apex of a curve on a state highway on a 9,000-foot plateau in the middle of nowh—FUCK! COWS!" Reader, there were cows. Thousands of them. Well, probably thirty, anyway, but in the road and lining the road, presenting a living, breathing, shitting, impassively staring cone-weave course any rider safety instructor would be envious of.