We zip a short ways through town then up Rocky Canyon to Boise Ridge Road. I watch in the mirror as dust billows behind and Nick searches for the sweet spot where he’s near enough to be above the rising dust without getting pelted by gravel. It’s like the tale of Icarus.
I notice a few mormon crickets making their way across the pale road, from dry grass to dry grass, some feasting on the remains of crushed brethren. I wonder if I should bring this southern Idaho curiosity to Nick’s attention (he’s from Poland) but decide it isn’t worth the heat and dust that will roll over us if we stop.
Nick loses sight of me when I veer up a sandy hill-climb and thinks I went left near the top. But there is no left, just brush and sand, so I watch from above, enjoying the show, while he works to free himself.