The moment I crested a small hill and gazed upon this tranquil scene I saw a golden opportunity to prove my manhood, something I often attempt. There is nothing better than scaring ignorant cattle, so I revved up the engine, popped the clutch (very macho, as I have an automatic), and blasted down the road with horn blaring and high beams flashing. At times I had to divert my attention from the exciting action to the mundane but important act of steering (life is full of disappointments).

The cloud of dust I raised was almost an environmental disaster, which of course gave me great pleasure. But even better was watching the cattle run off in all directions---I have never seen lethargic animals move so quickly. What an ego boost! The clanging of their cowbells was just loud enough to be heard above the roar of my engine, so I yelled "More cowbell!" repeatedly, in honor of Bruce Dickinson.

Once I reached the paved road I resumed a more cautious driving demeanor and forged onward to Green River. The episode must have boosted my self-confidence because strangers looked with envy as I drove past. Women waved at me with an admiring look in their eyes: three or four times I stopped to express my gratitude for their attention.

I lied (twice)---I yelled "More cowbell" without thinking of anyone but myself and I only stopped once to express my gratitude (that one stop was exhausting).

There is a rumor going around that none of this transpired and that I drove very slowly so as not to disturb the beasts. I disavow any knowledge of being such a sissy.