I suppose the goats might have been an omen. But really, who would expect an omen to come along on a Friday afternoon? Right there on the Dwight D. Eisenhower Highway, a bumpy stretch of asphalt choked with commuters and glacier-dooming exhaust? I was with Buford and Rico—old friends—all of us part-time river guides with much more good humor at our disposal than river skills. Buford is a welder, Canadian Club drinker, and a man with a merciless wit. Rico I’ve known for the great majority of my life, and I can say that during most of that time together we were laughing about one thing or another.