From the archives, May 2005 | A decade ago, we were avid mountain bikers. One of our favorite places to go was Moab, the center of all things slickrock and an amazing place to ride. Our group of friends rented a house in town for a week, and did nothing but ride bike.
Moab also had the benefit of being close to "our" uncle (he's Dave's uncle, but I claim him, too), who lives in western Colorado. When we could, we'd take a couple of days off and go for a visit, or see him on our way home.
When Dee wasn't working as a postmaster, he raised Thoroughbred racehorses. On a remote part of his farm he had a track bulldozed, just a short jog from the barn. Each morning, the trainer would ride each horse from the ranch out to the track for a workout. One morning Dave and I drove out a bumpy dirt road to watch the gallops. We climbed up one of the adobe hills, and pulled up a piece of dirt. This gorgeous, big Quarter horse was dwarfed by the adobe cliffs behind the track.
I loved this grey gelding, and wish I'd taken him home with me.