When you have to go
“It just goes onto the rocks underneath,” Brenna tells me, a bit mortified, as she emerges from the odd outhouse atop the mountain.
She is still nervous about the ride down so I make up a silly song as we begin bumping over rocks. “Bump-duddy-bump, we go around the rocks.”
I know she has (suffers from?) my analytical bent so I also explain as I navigate. “I’m always looking up ahead to decide which is the smoothest way. It’s like a game. It’s fun.”
“Keep singing,” she insists after I think she’s had enough. Soon she’s chattering, half singing along with the mild euphoria that follows a release of anxiety.