Mid September, and the end of a three month motorcycle tour of the US was in sight. Money had begun to run low, and Denver had just gotten snow. A bit east of Aspen I came across my own personal campground, deserted with the onset of the fall that comes early to the high country. Gold already adorned the aspen, and a likely looking trout stream ran next to my site. Lacking a license but unable to resist some temptations, I threw in a line, trusting in solitude, and landed a decent sized rainbow.

Earlier I'd picked up some ...