As I squeezed the last few items into my backpack and forcefully tried to cinch the zipper closed I took one last look towards Willcox scanning the vast rolling plains and blowing yellow grass. The grassland stretched on as far as I could see, occasional trees were visible above the grass, like green buoys swaying in a vast yellow ocean. I guess that’s why they call it a sky island. As we began pedaling, the wind brutally pushed us backwards and sideways. It took a lot of strength to steady my loaded down bike. I focused on spinning, circle after circle, even though my legs were already aching from our seven mile hike that morning. We were less than a mile into our 64 mile trek and I wasn’t about to let negative thoughts creep in now. I smiled at Ryan and kept pedaling, but when a group of four cows stopped dead in their tracks and stared us down like we were lunatics on parade I started to wonder if maybe we were a little bit crazy for taking on a weekend trip through the Chiricahua Mountains.
Goolds Gone Wild 