Post-It, August 2008 by Craig Johnson:

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"I would rather wake up in the middle of nowhere than in any city on earth."

-Steve McQueen

I got asked in an interview what was the most interesting thing that happened during the motorcycle portion of the recent tour, and it wasn't hard to come up with it. After finishing an event in Sunriver, OR, I had a day off and decided I'd hot-foot it down through Lakeview, swing north through the Hart Mountain Antelope Refuge, do the loop at Steens Mountain, and then head south to Winnemucca and a Basque dinner at the St. Martin's Hotel (more on that, later).

So, for some strange reason, I decided to seek out and explore the part of Oregon and Nevada that was almost identical to Wyoming-maybe I was homesick. I'd eaten lunch at the French Glen Hotel (population 11-I told you it was like Wyoming) and had a family style lunch with one other man, who was a park ranger. I told him what I was doing, and he thought I was nuts. "That's eight hours on dirt and gravel roads." I nodded as he continued spooning beef stew into his mouth, "Well it's your rear-end, not mine."

Later that afternoon, I was whistling down the high desert valley toward Denio Junction and hadn't seen another human in hours. Off in the distance, with a vista as straight and flat as a mason's rule, I saw this orange sign on the side of the road that said Flagman Ahead. I slowed, and after a mile, there's this young woman standing out there in the middle of nowhere. She's holding the Stop side of the sign toward me, so I pull up and cut the engine. She was from the Fort McDermitt Paiute Shoshone Reservation. As she studied the Indian-chief badge on the front of my bike, she asked, "You Indian?"

I pulled off my helmet, and it became obvious how non-Indian I was. "Nope."

"Just traveling?"

I glanced at the tiny red and white cooler sitting on the gravel at roadside; it didn't seem like a lot of supplies for a whole day. "I'm on a book tour."

"Really? What kind of books?"

"They're mysteries, about a Wyoming sheriff." I rattled off a few titles.

"Nah, I haven't read you. I read that guy, the one that writes about those two guys..."

Even with that vague of a description, I knew whom she was talking about. "Tony Hillerman."

"Yeah. That's him." Her radio crackled as she slipped it from her belt and talked with someone, somewhere.

I looked around and still couldn't see anything. "Are you out here alone?"

"Yeah, they got a highway patrolman comin' through at speed, and there's some road damage ahead and they were afraid that someone might change lanes."

"How fast is he coming?"

She looked back down the road behind her. "Fast."

We both saw him from a full mile away, and in twenty-four seconds

he passed within ten feet from where I straddled my motorcycle and she stood. Her dark hair was still trailing after his slipstream when she turned the sign around to

Slow, and smiled a dazzling grin. "You can go now."

For all I know, she's still there.

I've got a few events still in the works with the Sheridan County Historical Society on Sunday, August 17^th at 3:00pm on the porch of the museum. The Clearmont Branch Library, Clearmont, WY, on September 2nd at 6:30pm to discuss why it is I refer to Ucross as the crown jewel of the UCLA (Ucross, Clearmont, Leiter and Arvada) area. Frontier Asset Management at Eaton's Ranch, Wolf, WY on Thursday, September 4^th, private event. Headed down south for Bookmarks, the Winston-Salem Book Festival in North Carolina on the weekend of September 13^th. Borders in Barboursville, West Virginia, Tuesday, September 16^th at 2:00pm. Taylor's Books in Charleston, West Virginia, Thursday, September 18th at 12:00 noon. Empire Books in Huntington, West Virginia, Thursday, September 18^th at 7:00pm. Last, but certainly not least, I'll be at the New Atlantic Independent Bookseller's Association in Cherry Hill, New Jersey at the Noir Bar, Sunday evening, September 21^st. After that I'll be playing with granddaughter Lola in Philadelphia for a couple of days, private event.