Out west in Montana, we encountered a little town named Reed Point. The name was instantly familiar to me. Many years ago I read of a weird annual tradition in this little town between Billings and Bozeman: the running of the sheep. It is Montana's version of Pamplona, only with mutton instead of steak.

Anyway, we pulled over to check out this town with the manifestly good sense of humor. Alas, we saw only a sign that indicated that the running of the sheep was still a few months off; other than that, it was a town in repose. We drifted down quiet unpeopled streets and made only the acquaintance of a mutt named Sparrow.

There was lodging in town, but after conferring briefly (read: not at all), we decided to keep heading west. Nevertheless, we love you, Reed Point.

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