A few summers ago, I spent several days mountain biking alongside a river in the southwest corner of Colorado. A friend and I settled into our cabin, then high-tailed it to the closest town to load up on food; we hadn’t brought a morsel with us. As we soon discovered, that was a bad idea.
There wasn’t a fresh-looking vegetable in sight, although the town’s one and only market stocked the largest packages of fat-marbled ground beef and the biggest buckets of lard I’ve ever seen. Needless to say, after a few evenings of cholesterol loading, our morning starts seemed to lose their zeal.