Taking advantage of the beach cruiser bikes that were included in our rental house, Emily, Heidi, and I pedaled out the rutted clay road yesterday morning. Our destination was the northernmost spit of land on our little peninsula, but the way was not direct. We meandered around a little pond and through a horse farm before we even made it to the main road. At one point we rounded a little bend, flustering a half dozen vultures feeding on a deer carcass by the side of the road. A few held their ground as we rolled by, and I could neither unsee the long stretchy piece of gore one was pulling from the gut, nor unsmell the sharp stench, but those unpleasantries were joined by an abiding appreciation for the role of the scavenger, especially when half an hour later on our return trip we pedaled by four times as many vultures and the indisputable calculus that over half the deer was gone.