They traverse the gnarliest of trails...
...nimbly scaling cliff faces...
...all for a lick of salt.
It was a dark, starry night in the farmlands of Indiana. Tent pitched and teeth brushed, we laid down, eagerly awaiting a night's sleep after a day's riding.
Amid the chip of crickets and the croaking of frogs came - at a regular and alarmingly upbeat interval - a short but intensely panicked scream from a single goat somewhere in the distance. Not once, but over and over without an apparent end.
Imagine this, on repeat, with no stop button:
*This is actually a sheep, but it conveys the sentiment.
As nightmarish images of what tortures this goat might be enduring passed through our minds, we thought of our own frequent, hysteric screams as we sent our bikes down paths like this:
