my love for the Swell

He knew it, but didn’t want to face the ugly truth. This would be his last time for awhile in The Swell. He searched high and low to find a good final resting spot to be alone with his love.
Through the dust cloud created by the car, he sees an old horse corral, and beyond a patch of earth perfectly centered behind the Wedge and the adjoining canyon.
“Time to set up camp, and drink to the setting sun.”
Not another soul to be seen or heard, in fact only a lone lizard was spotted briefly before heading back down the rocky hole he called home. The tent is pitched as dark clouds move south to north.
He cracks the first beer, and cheers the towering orange rocks.
“I’ll miss you the most…” 
In the stillness he can actually hear the sun setting, revolving, making it’s way around our little world.
The darkness starts to abate, showing the faintest glimmer of the wilderness from the tent. Surviving the wild alone, he quietly unzips the tent flap and peers outside. Nothing but small red coals from last night’s fire, and his trusty bike.
He slowly gets up and walks to get the blood pumping and stiffness out of his body. The sunrise comes quickly here in the Swell, and it startles him into motion.
He rides to the bridge that the San Rafael river runs underneath. It’s too low for anything other than a watering hole for the animals.
He continues on. A plateau calls his name. He stops to listen…
one final time.
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Wench, bring my ale, what say you?