Honey, We Need to Talk!

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" my wife asked as she led me down the aisle of a ma and pa grocery store in Northern California. We were exploring the epicenter of the 1849 Gold Rush with a group of brisk riding friends. The morning had been spent on a twisted entanglement of dirt and narrow paved roads through the mountains. It would be a stretch to say we had been riding conservatively.

Trepidation mounted as we moved out of earshot of my pals and any semblance of protection they might have offered. It felt like one of those dreams where you are drawn ever deeper beneath the waves by some unknown creature with tentacles. You can see the boat above, but it can't be reached and no one can hear you scream.