Anamosa To Clinton 70 Miles

The final morning was uncharacteristically quiet. The humans partied harder than usual last night, with most talking about how relaxed and cool the next day’s ride would be. Our campsite packed up quickly as both of us were eager to get the ride started. I sat at the bottom of the ramp into the truck while Logan loaded our gear for the last time. We rolled our rig through camp making sure to say good morning to the people who we saw regularly. Hearing Logan give the rundown of my breed, age, name and the usual info every fifteen seconds for seven days gave me the idea that there were quite a number of people who recognized me. It’s hard to tell the humans apart when they all are wearing such funny colored spandex, but I always appreciated the kind words.

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