A mile down from the saddle, three motorcyclers of that group are huddled out of the rain under trees aside the road. I rev the motor and pretend to be aiming at the motorcycle I knocked over earlier. They laugh as I abruptly stop.
“I don’t know if you guys have radios or something,” I tell them, glancing back toward the ridge, “but your friends with the Jeep are having trouble back there.”
“Oh, where at?” they wonder.
“Up at the saddle where the campground is,” I explain. They don’t seem surprised so I give a nod and resume riding.