I lived most of my adult life on the East Coast, so the idea of moving to the other side of the country seemed like a very big deal indeed. Among other things, the ocean faced the wrong way. And there were earthquakes instead of hurricanes, mountains instead of flatlands.
But once here, amid all this strange terrain, I felt at home somehow. It wasn’t until last month that I realized why: I’d been riding these ranges in my imagination since I was able to mount a hobby horse.
From the beginning, Westerns were my beans and biscuits. Every chance I got I rode along with Pancho and Cisco; Tonto and Kemosabe; Roy and Dale; Paladin, Sky King, and Penny; Spin and Marty; Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp, and all four Mavericks. Later came The Rifleman, Gunsmoke, Bonanza, etc. and etc. I wonder how my parents managed to sleep at night with such a desperado down the hall.