So begins the long freeway burn to Vancouver, B.C.  — necessary to ensure that the bike is prepped, crated and in the shipper’s hands on Monday the 9th. I rode fill-up to fill-up, stopping at rest areas to pull off my boots and socks to let my toes loose to play in the grass. I was paying extra attention to staying hydrated: the August sun turned the interstate into a hell-hot anvil.

My sights were on Bruneau Dunes State Park in Idaho, a dozen miles south of Mountain Home. With sore joints I set up camp and washed laundry, then walked out to the dunes to stretch my legs and see what the dunes were all about.

Bruneau Sand Dunes, Idaho

I chatted with my camping neighbor, who was driving from the east coast to Portland, Oregon to start a new job on a cruise ship. In addition to being young and cute, Anna from Baltimore was also kind enough to share her beers and campfire with this worn out rider. Around midnight, she suggested that we walk out to the dunes to see stars, and not wanting to sound like an aching, tired middle-aged fart, I agreed. Flashlights in hand, we stumbled past surprised kangaroo rats, and after a few “unintended detours” found ourselves sprawled on the cool sand, gazing at a moonless firmament, engaged in the philosophical discussions that such settings tend to produce.

On the walk back to camp, the moon rose red and large on the horizon, and she tried to convince me that it was Mars.