A Good Weekend

That's Tennessee in the distance, looking north out of Cloudland Canyon. It's on the west side of Lookout Mountain, an impregnable fortress if -- like the Confederate army -- you put artillery on the long ridge, and the two ridges behind it. Armies would break like water on the central rock. The Northern forces were wise enough to wait until they could take Lookout Mountain, and then go around to the east.

I rode up there and hiked yesterday, rode back today. I stopped by my father's house on the way. He had bought a box of .22 for that revolver I mentioned. I brought it home and shot it out of my Ruger Single Six instead. Tonight I'm grilling marinated steak over a charcoal and hickory fire, while drinking a bit of pilsner.

Mountains, motorcycles, guns, and beer. Maybe it gets better than that. Maybe not.