In the 70s, when I was working as a carpenter by day, and writing my first novel, “The Search for Goodbye-to-Rains” during the evenings, hanging out in the coffee shops of Marin County. Nearly got killed on my first carpentry job – two times!
Do you possess, or are you possessed by, a red-carpet dream? For some, the fantasy could be actual stardom. Including, let’s say, acquiring a glittering star on that sidewalk by Hollywood Boulevard. (Just don’t let them stick yours down anywhere near Trump’s star – that wacko wildly swinging a pickax just might accidentally hack yours up, too.)
Dawn bleached shadows off the Sierra’s granite bones as horses in the Tevis Cup Ride trotted from the forest and into Squaw Valley.
The rugged and dusty mountain endurance race now known as the Tevis Cup Ride was born as an effort to resuscitate an Old West legend: the Pony Express.
Holding a halter, Gabrielle Mann walked toward Saint Patrick, who stood casually upon a hill at the ranch of financier Warren Hellman in Bolinas.
