The sun has long since set on the stretch of Colorado 141 that I'm driving, eyes bleary, windshield smeared with grease and cheese from the pizza sitting on that dashboard that I scored in Grand Junction just before the entire city rolled up its streets and shut down for the night. I've been awake since four a.m., a victim of weather and mechanical gremlins forcing me out of the skies not once, but twice today, and sending me down this lonely road far later than planned. 'Detroit Rock City' is playing on the radio as I push Chevy's latest pickup as quickly as I dare through the mountain passes, frantically racing sleep and exhaustion to the warm bed waiting for me while lightning frames the peaks that tower above with shocks of light, when I see it: walking down the opposite shoulder, looking right at me. Is that a damn bear? Yeah, that's a damn bear.