When I met Randy Livingston in 2000, I was making the long drive from California back to my home state of Minnesota and had stopped in the mountains of Utah to go for a run. On a quiet gravel road three miles from the highway, I found myself face to face with a cowboy on a horse and a couple of dogs trailing behind. He invited me back to his small camper trailer for a cup of coffee.
The cozy, wood-paneled space was simple and efficient. “I thought I’d seen just about everything until I saw you coming up that road,” he said, shaking his head as he filled my mug. He herded sheep year-round and wasn’t used to seeing anyone out there, certainly not a man in running clothes.
