Foreign relations

At certain points of the fall and spring, my high school cross country and track coaches would load us up into a cargo van and drive into the country. They'd kick us out and say, "See you back at the school."

Because of that — and from exploring southern Kossuth County, Iowa, on my own — I'm fairly familiar with the gravel roads around Algona. Even looking at the map this morning, I could picture the roads I'd be riding on.

So that was nice. Memories came right back as I rolled out of town — south, toward Irvington — and onto the gravel. My previous rural-road gravel experiences came in handy pretty quick: farm dog, 3 o'cock.

It was obvious right away that it was the friendly kind of farm dog, the one that's basically saying, "Hey! Can I run with you? I like running! Yay! Run run run run run!"

Though I knew it was futile, I told him to go home. And then I picked up the pace and really got moving. He kept up. So then I tried to trick him by heading back toward his house, letting him get ahead and then doing a quick U-turn. Nope.

Then I thought I'd go farther down the road — and faster — trying to drop him. He was on my wheel when I got to a fairly busy country intersection. So I turned around and took him back ... again. When we got there this time, he laid down on the grass in front of his house. And then he got up and trotted toward the house, as if he heard his owner opening a door or filling up a water bowl.

So I took off — again — and ripped down the road. Again.

After a half-mile, I looked back and the damn dog was running after me. This time, I had a pretty good gap, so I ripped through the next little (ghost) town, around a couple of curves and back out into the open country.

That dumb dog was there the whole time. When I finally got the point where I could not, in good conscience, allow him to follow any longer, we turned around. Back through the ghost town, back across the intersection and on the way back to his house.

Like any good dog, he got distracted when we went past another farm house, at which something exciting was happening. And like that, he was gone. I wish I would have known about that distraction on one of the other four or five passes past that place.

By the time the dog was gone, my ride window was fairly well blown and I had to head back. Prior knowledge helped once again, so I took a slight detour on the way back into town. It would have been nice to get more miles, yes, but it was just nice to be out to begin with.

And, hey, I made a new friend, if nothing else.