My horse was named Cloud because he’s been known to fart. We’d been riding for an hour, and I was beginning to wonder if this fart thing was just a nasty rumor around the corral. Just as I was losing faith, Cloud earned his namesake with a deep, deliberate rumble. I’d never heard a horse fart, but it was a lot like my own, just bigger and better. I got the feeling he was proud of himself.

Candyce and I joined some friends for a few days in the White Mountains of northern Arizona. We stayed at Megan’s big cabin in a buckaroo resort, so it only seemed right to go horseback riding our first morning.

After a little lesson from the cowhands, we were ready to ride. We winded our way through the pine forest, stopping twice to admire a jackrabbit and a cow. Cows aren’t new or exciting, but it fit in with the whole cowboy thing.

We road out of the pines and up a grass-covered mountain. Without the trees, you could see for miles in every direction. I felt like a real frontiersman. At the top of the mountain, we hopped of the horses to find the cave.

A few of us crawled between the rocks into the underground room. Outside wind was whipping across the mountains, but inside it was still and peaceful. It seemed to be a popular retreat, with piles of animal poop around the cave.

:::

It felt so good to get away with friends for a few days. It was cold enough at night to make a fire and bury yourself under blankets. We listened to Dave Matthews, roasted marshmallows, and watched the stars through the giant windows.

The four hour drive back home was stunning. I felt like I was driving through a stack of postcards. It was the ultimate backdrop for a road trip. So Candyce slipped in a U2 CD and we drove through wild wild west.