Pointing out the new kitchen window, to the ridge running east from Goat Mountain, Father said “That’s Crazy Man.” I asked if he meant one of the small rises along the ridge, but he answered “No, look. See the fire break that splits in two near the top?” I didn’t know what a fire break was, but after a lengthy explanation, I realized it was the dirt road he meant, and after that, I was able to find it easily. The fire break was a mostly straight line, broken only by one hard turn to the right, but as Father pointed out, there was a split near the top of the trail, giving it the appearance of a king cobra resting against the backdrop of sage brush. “Where it splits like that,” Father pointed “you can’t see it from here, but the trail is really steep. If you walk up it, you can put your hand out and touch the ground ahead of you.” I tried to picture it, but it seemed impossible. I told Father that I’d like to see it, if only to make sense of his description. He promised me that on the coming Saturday he would take me for a hike up the back side of Goat Mountain, so we could look down from the top of Crazy Man. We hadn’t gone on many hikes together since we’d moved from Colorado, so I was looking forward to it with great enthusiasm.