It is early August. Everything is lush from the wet season. We are encased in mountain peaks that bookend the river valley, infinite. The riding is smooth along roller hills that bounce up and down, effortlessly. The hills and mountains align themselves in overlapping layers like paper cutouts on a theatre screen in deep blues and greys. I am reminded of the Mississippi river valley, the Driftless, except the river is smaller here, and the mountains enormous —