It was pure relief and delight to see him at his old tricks, hammering away with his characteristic fanaticism. Naturally he insisted on being the lead dog--the new girl dog, three times his size, followed behind him.
Prescott national forest is divided into several ranger districts. The ranger district that manages the forest close to the outskirts of town over-manages it, like it was something in California or back east: fees, regulations, "improvements," etc. (Other ranger districts in the same national forest are normal.)
Dispersed area camping, i.e., boondocking, is tolerated but only for seven days at officially designated campsites. Naturally a serious RV boondocker despises this. But if I were to go on a rant, it would be rather predictable.
Instead, let me admit that I did get some real pleasure riding my mountain bike without the BOB trailer, on a sinuous trail of hard-packed single-track. This trail had been set up by somebody who appreciated the difference between a wheel and a heel or hoof. And thanks to the uber-rangers in Prescott I didn't have to worry about being run over by motorcycles or ATVs, or getting gridlocked with Jeep Wranglers.
The forest was quite attractive on this trail. It was semi-open, featuring ponderosa pine and oak. Oak, a tree with leaves, those flat-fingered food factories of real trees. After ten years of being out West, I still miss seeing a real tree. The truth is that most western forests are unsightly and monotonous.
Worse yet, they are dangerously overgrown, and seldom logged. Then, when a massive fire hits like in southern California recently, everybody acts surprised.
A week ago, before the little poodle was rescued, I took the new dog out on this single track. Accustomed to a little munchkin of a dog, it made a great impression on me to be followed by a large, mostly black, dog who resembles a German Shepherd when her ears perk up.
We positively flew along that single track. I felt giddy. Soon I wasn't in the ponderosas of Arizona's Central Highlands, anymore. I was in the opening battle scene in the "Gladiator." The northern forest was cold, dark, and dangerous. The Imperial Roman forces were thrashing the barbarians.
General Maximus was followed by his mighty Dog of War, a blackish German Shepherd. Losing a hand-to-hand combat with a huge Teutonic barbarian, he is finally rescued by the vicious lunge of his loyal Dog of War.
