"I hope you're right, Sam. I hate being on the road without a confirmed reservation waiting for me."

"Well, I've not had much trouble in the past. Shouldn't be any problem in Cody. It's a big town with plenty of motels and a brand new hotel."

Ann seemed to enjoy being snuggled-in on the back seat of Sam's motorcycle and chatting on the connecting microphones. They traveled together often during the summer, becoming quite the loving couple. This time they were on their way to the Sturgis rally in South Dakota from Sam's place in San Francisco.

They rode through Nevada, into Idaho and on into Wyoming. They were nearing their planned overnight destination in Cody, several hours behind schedule because of delays from road construction outside of Yellowstone Park.

"Why don't you stop at the next town and call ahead for reservations?" Ann said.

"Because there's not much of a town between here and Cody, as far as I can tell from the idiot map I've got. If we find a town, I'll stop. Gotta buy a new map. The detailed part of this one blew away in yesterday's gusts."

"Sure is an arid, desolate wasteland beyond Yellowstone. Completely abandoned. Beautiful though," Ann said.

Sam loved the sound the bike made climbing through the mountains. The narrow roads hacked out of the mountain on one side, without guard rails on the other, gave Sam a tremendous rush. He leaned the bike to one side, then the other, throttling on through the twisting sharp pigtail and teardrop turns. A real challenge. "Love'em," he kept saying.

Sam's favorite thrill on these long rides was coming down out of forested mountains, through the passes, to see the vast and empty valleys laid out in front of him. Beautiful. Empty space to the left, to the right, as far as one could see and another mountain way out there on the horizon. Being able to see where he'd be in the next half hour on the road that climbed to the next mountain, gave him a feeling of being free and in command of life. He enjoyed the temperature changes too, from the cool mountain air to the heat of the desert valley floors sprawled out before him on the horizon.

Ann had commented on earlier trips that she couldn't get over how dramatic the changes in the desert were from one area to another. "Good thing we like this," Sam said. "We'll see a lot of desert on this trip."

"Can't wait to meet up with the gang in Deadwood. I haven't seen Charlie, that Jolly Green Giant, or Nancy or Kate since last Spring's rally in Napa Valley," Ann said. "I heard Nancy is pregnant."

"Yeah. Hope Charlie's pleased. Looks like most of the crowd will make it this year. We have reservations to room with Ron and Sandy. They're fun." Sam could feel Ann nodding her helmet in agreement.

Another seventy-five miles and it was time to refuel as they rode into Cody. The sun was low and behind them, casting long spindly shadows on the road as they approached the first traffic light.

"Do you see what I see, Sam?"

"Yeah. How mortifying."

A large red banner, tied from telephone poles on one side of the main street to the other, proclaimed Cody's Annual Rodeo.

"The annual rodeo... Tonight?" Ann shrieked.

"Apparently. Damn. Look at this town. It's packed and humming. This isn't good," Sam mumbled, a sinking feeling overcoming him.

"That's the reason for all the No Vacancy signs we've seen, smarty pants. Look. There's a Holiday Inn over at the far end of Main Street on the left. Ride over there. Maybe they're so expensive, they might still have a room left."

Sam goosed the bike down the main street and into the parking lot. "Well, there's some space in the lot. Maybe there's a room left in the hotel."

"It's late, but maybe they have a cancellation." Hope oozed from Ann's voice.

The hotel was brand new, still unfinished, but obviously open for business. The smell of fresh paint, carpet glue, and burned coffee was strong in the atrium. The registration desk attendant smiled as she shook her head, no.

"Can you call around and locate an available room?" Sam said. He could tell though, that there wasn't a chance in hell. The whole town was abuzz with people, pickup trucks, horse trailers, and RVs, all engaged in preparations for the evening's rodeo. A few groups of motorcyclists obviously not dressed for the cowboy experience and evidently on their way to Sturgis, were bringing biker-type saddlebags into the hotel. No Vacancy neon signs flashed everywhere, just like they had a fire sale on them.

"Cowboy hats, buckles and boots everywhere," Ann said. "Must be their busiest week of the year."

"We'll get gas, eat, and move on to the next town," Sam said. "We'll get a room in the next town."

"I sure hope so. My butt isn't made of iron like yours. And it's getting too late and too cool at this altitude to lose time eating. Let's wait until after we find a room."

"Okay. It's your call," Sam said. "We'd better put on sweat shirts under our wind breakers and dig out our winter gloves. Our leather jackets won't be enough when that sun goes down."

They passed the next three bergs, unglamorous at best, with No Vacancy signs lit on each of the few grungy motels.

Ann spoke after a long silence. "It gets dark quickly in these Big Horn Mountains."

"Damn cold, too," Sam was quick to reply.

"I just want you to know that you've pissed me off real good, Sam Brick." Her voice seemed to have dropped half an octave. "I'm tired, cold and hungry. And you did your damn male thing and didn't call ahead for a room. And I thought you were different from the others. Damn. I'm getting more pissed the longer I think about it and the darker it gets."

"The next good sized town is a hundred miles east. Sheridan," Sam explained. "We'll be there in an hour and fifteen minutes."

Ann didn't reply.

"Sorry about that, honey. It's just that I've never had trouble getting a room before, although I've gotten the last rooms more often than is statistically reasonable. Sorry it had to happen with you."

Ann's silence filled his earphones as blackness smothered the mountain.

The bike jerked. Sam squeezed the brake.

"What's the matter? Why are you slowing down?"

"Look ahead at that sign reflected in the headlight." His voice trailed off in disbelief.

"Pavement Ends?" Ann screeched again. "What the hell is that?"

Sam stopped the bike. "Road construction. Damn. Who'd believe it? Without a hint of a warning. No roadway."

Ann began. "No room, no warmth, no light, no food and now, no God damn road? Sam, get me the hell out of here. I've had it."

"Lets see how long the construction lasts."

Sam started onto the rutted dirt. Road graders, backhoes, tractors, earthmovers and trucks littered the trail. "Wow, this dirt is muddy. It's slick as grease."

"What's that up ahead?"

In the darkness, two large eyes watched the duo ride by as Sam avoided the larger potholes.

"A steer," Sam replied in a joyless tone. "Didn't you see the last sign we passed? It said, Open Range."

"Damn, Sam, what next? Now I'm more than pissed. Damn men." She pounded the back of Sam's jacket with clenched fists.

Sam maintained the cycle's forward movement in the mud, slipping a little from time to time, concentrating on keeping upright.

"There's a sign right over there," Ann said. "It says, Guest Room and Stable, but it's dark and it's too far off the road in the forest for me to see if it's open."

Sam stopped, happy to relax for a moment and studied the situation. He shivered.

"What are you waiting for, Sam? Let's go."

"We'll never make it. That's a rocky gravel driveway. It drops down pretty steep. And in this darkness, I'm not sure I'd be able to get back out. Sorry, Ann. It's no good."

Ann didn't respond.

Sam gingerly proceeded in first gear as the high beam illuminated more and more construction ahead. An hour and fifteen minutes. Right. Not in low gears. What a night. His shivering became stronger.

Sam flicked the headlight from high beam to low, back to high and noticed an unlit motel sign up ahead to the right. As he passed the sign, he saw a dim light in what he thought must be the office. The building sat on the side of the hill in the woods. He turned down into the slippery, wet gravel driveway, found a firm spot for the kickstand, killed the engine and slid off the bike.

Ann remained in the saddle, unresponsive. She was tired, cold, hungry and really pissed, he figured.

It wasn't the office. It was a gin mill. A closed bar, gray with the pall of the day's tobacco smoke. The pungent, stale smoke choked Sam, but he was on a mission. He ignored the irritant atmosphere and began to feel the warmth of the room.

"No." The guy behind the bar said, there weren't any motel rooms left. But he had a cabin.

"A cabin?" Sam's tired eyes widened as a feeling of salvation crept over his chilled body.

"Yup. Number 13 is empty."

"That'll be a first," Sam said. "I'll take it."

Sam went to the door, mustered his negotiator's voice and suggested to Ann that she come in and use the john. "Get some snacks, too."

She complied in silence.

Thirty-nine dollars would be outrageous for that cabin at two o'clock in the afternoon. But at eleven-thirty at night, it was a non-issue. Sam was defrosting. The shivers began to subside.

Back on the bike, they passed a Harley with a snazzy attached trailer parked outside cabin number twelve and Sam pulled in front of the next cabin, illuminating it in the headlight.

"Rustic," Sam said. "But then again I love euphemisms. Tiny, too. Not quaint. Not cozy. But shelter." Sam began to shiver again.

The outhouse was mostly hidden behind the cabin, amongst spindly trees and low brush. Sam was unsuccessful with the key, he shook too hard, so he held a little flashlight for Ann. The light giggled as she opened the padlock.

There were two cots in the ten by twelve knotty pine room. Spartan, primitive and cold. The ceilings' sixty watter threw just enough light to keep them in their own shadows. Their breath condensed in the frigid air.

An old wall heater took up one corner. Ann stared at it and said, "It looks as if it hasn't been used in a decade. Try it. I'm jumping right into this bed." She took off her jacket and boots, left the rest of her clothes as they were and got underneath the covers. "Gad, it's cold."

Sam went through his travel bag looking for matches he put there years ago, hoping they would work if he found them. He did, and they did, but the heater didn't. Match after match after match. Acrid sulfur fumes rose to the apex of the ceiling around the light bulb.

"It's out of propane." His exasperation echoed from wall to wall.

"I knew that," Ann cracked. "And this frickin' pillow is like a block of ice. Give me that bag of corn chips, I'm famished. My stomach is rolling like an empty barrel."

"Maybe I should trade in my bike for a recreational vehicle," Sam mused under his breath.

They munched on corn chips, Snicker bars and sipped Calistoga water. Not too much water. "I'm not getting up to pee outside on a bet," Ann said, turning her back to Sam. "Brrr."

Sam took the covers from the other bed and put them over Ann. Then he removed his jacket and boots and joined her on the narrow cot. Ann was right. The pillow was like a block of ice. So was Ann.

"The bartender said there were four inches of snow here yesterday morning. That's why the road is so sloppy. I sure hope tomorrow is beautiful." Sam knew he was talking to himself. He soon realized he shouldn't move his head out of the little depression his head made in the pillow, the only defrosted part that wasn't ice cold. He crowded up against Ann's back and duplicated her fetal position.

After many minutes, Sam sighed and mumbled, "I'm exhausted. But my brain won't shut down. Guess it knows my feet are frozen. Should have put on an extra pair of socks." Ann hadn't dozed off yet. He knew how she breathed when she slept and she was stiff, definitely not relaxed.

After several more minutes, a rapid scratching noise on the roof grabbed their attention. "What's that?" Ann said.

"Don't know. Shhhh.

Bop, bump, bump, bump. Scratch, scratch. Bop, bump, bump, bump, bump. Scratch. Tap-tap-tap-tap...

"Sam, damn it. What the hell is that noise?"

"Sounds like a squirrel playing basketball with pine cones on the roof."

They listened to the odd staccato noises for nearly ten minutes. "How frigging exasperating. Tired, freezing, in need of a good hot meal and can't even get to sleep to escape it all. Sam, I'm never traveling with you again without a planned itinerary, complete with guaranteed late arrivals each night."

"Duh. Hokay," Sam said in his comic cartoon Goofy voice.

At that moment, in the corner of the cabin above their heads, they heard violent scratching on the roof.

"Damn, Sam. It want's in."

"Yup. Sounds like it. It's cold outside, but it's just as cold inside. I'm a sharing kind of guy, but this is our room. I paid for the privilege of freezing and I don't want any company." Sam rose from the blankets and pounded on the paneled wall. Any semblance of drifting off to sleep was gone. Hour by hour, time slo-moed by.

In a nearly inaudible voice, Ann sighed, "I'd sell my soul for an electric blanket."

"Ooh. There's some light coming from under the door. It must be morning, Sam. Amen. What time is it?"

"Seven."

"Great. We can be on the road in two minutes since we're already dressed."

Sam anticipated her caustic tone. "There had better be sunshine on the other side of that door," he said, and got off the cot, put his cold feet inside icy cold boots, zipped on his stiff leather jacket, and hesitated at the door knob. After a determined pull, the door swung wide, and a stunning shaft of warm, brilliant sunlight flooded the doorway.

Sam squinted. "Come and look at this, Ann. The gods have taken pity on us." The sun had cut through two stands of pine trees right onto their cabin steps. "Wow. Feel that warmth. I'm gonna move the bike into the sun to get rid of the dew."

"Wipe the seat, Sam. I'm right behind you."

They were on their cautious way in minutes.

A hundred miles outside Sheridan, in a roadside restaurant, a breakfasted, comfortable Ann outlined the rest of the trip for the handle-bar guy. "When do we get to Deadwood?"

"For lunch," a quiet, tired Sam responded, fingering and staring at his coffee cup with his sleepless eyes as he slouched in the booth.

"Good. I'm anxious to see Nancy and the other girls. And from now on, if you want me to ride with you, I'm in on the planning of the trip. Agreed?"

"Duh, yup. Hokay." He sat up and drained his cup. "How about, on the return trip, we overnight in Thermopolis on our way to the Grand Teton Park?"

"Why Thermopolis?"

"It has the world's largest mineral hot springs. We could make up lost body heat with a long soothing soak in a steaming spring, simmering in a romantic cauldron for two." Sam felt his face reflecting an emerging element of vigor.

"You dipstick. You know you've just won the Butthead Award of the year. We'll discuss the return run when I find the energy. Right now, let's ride. Deadwood and Sturgis, here we come."