"I wear my Viking helmet because the horns define how sharp my brains are."

Ah, Flavor Flav. Using that reasoning, I'm not very smart, especially if you look at the helmet I wore this weekend.

We went to my parents' cabin this weekend. After going for a walk with my mom and losing my parents' dog in the bear-laden woods, I went for a bike ride. I forgot to take my helmet to Wisconsin, so I rooted around the treasure-trove garage and found this beauty, which probably was last worn by my baby brother in 1995.

It was a nice ride with gentle, small rolling hills. I was chased by a juvenile deer for a while. Was it attracted to my neon yellow?

After the ride, Dan and I went to a beer festival. On the way home, we were crossing a river and my parents' dog came trotting across the bridge, many miles from where we lost her nearly 7 hours earlier.

I'd love to know what she did all day and whether, when we heard her barking shortly after she ran off, she was wrangling with some bears by the river. She clearly followed the river to the road. That actually was kind of smart. I wonder what kind of a helmet she has.