"Miniature horses for sale. Acreage available."

When asked to write a story in six words, Hemmingway wrote "For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn."

I saw the advertisement for miniature horses spray painted on a piece of plywood just outside of the small town of Doyle. When you move as slowly as an untrained cyclist riding with thirty extra pounds of cargo going straight into the wind, you find yourself reading a seemingly meaningless sign for long enough that you start to make something from it, and I can create a biography for the miniature horse breeder from the time my near sighted eyes see the sign until I pass it. Yeah, I'm going that slowly. I also saw the little guys attempt a small scale stampede in their pin. It was hilarious.

I'm told a storm is moving in, which explains the early morning wind I felt at dawn. I'm shooting for Sierraville today.