Lost Nut and the Broken Tooth
Piglet the farm dog This can’t be happening. Droplets of sweat slide brow to brim, then ramp off my nose splattering on concrete hot enough to boil. With a shirt like a damp wool blanket in an overheated house, uncomfortable and oppressive, I start unpacking my gear. It’s busy and loud just outside the rural airport, no goats on the runway but not far from it. The exit of baggage claim is a cocktail of energy; cowboys lean over a metal guardrail to welcome arriving family, women laugh and talk loudly in small circles, and kids are running around everywhere. I’m the sweaty dude dragging a bucket load of gear through the open air terminal. Escaping the masses to a nearby parking lot, I carelessly rummage through my cardboard bike box. Lifting my head momentarily like a dog in a dumpster--just long enough to realize my surroundings. I have an audience. A short stubby guy leaning into his shovel rifles something off in Spanish, too fast to understan...