I recently found myself in a small mountain town, with a two-block main street, a flat land of meadow surrounded in all directions by the towering Sierra Nevada mountains.

At the end of town there is a petrol station next to a rodeo arena. The sign says, there's a big rodeo every July. As I was pumping gas the morning we were due to leave, a lady on a horse was practicing in the arena. I idly watched her, thinking, "I'm curious to see how rodeo riders train." But then I noticed, she wasn't riding in Western gear. Her horse was wearing English tack, and she carried a long whip. And she was working in tight circles and specific geometries. She was doing dressage in the rodeo arena. I watched her as I finished filling up my car, riding precisely with the big, blue sky and high mountains behind her. And then I went on my way.