Through the Iron Sight

The climb ended at a weathered stone turnout. Loose shale crunched under my tires as I cut the throttle. Near the rusted guardrail sat a mount with a tourist viewing scope, long stripped of its coin slot and clouded with dust. I stepped over, gripped the oxidized iron barrel, and wiped the front lens with the cuff of my leather sleeve. Peering through, the jagged gorge below snapped into sharp focus. Between two split boulders three miles down, a narrow dry creek bed cut through the terrain—a cleaner passage than the ridge trail. Worth remembering.