I'm climbing a mountain, a dry shale ascent, with a few other climbers, escorting a couple of celebrities. One of them is Bob Dylan, who is very old and thin, with very long hair in a wide triangle below his shoulders onto his back. He tires out and I end up carrying him in a baby backpack like what I use to take my daughter Amber out on hikes.

We get to something that we seem to regard as the destination, but it doesn't really seem like a mountain top. We're standing on the rim of a long downslope, which I don't think we're going to descend. The earth moves a little bit, and I warn everyone it's going to give way, keep standing up and keep your balance and you'll be ok. We all slide together down this slope and end up at the bottom, Bob still in my backpack.

At the bottom, we're sort of checking ourselves out, and Bob gets down so we can get a look at him. Everybody is ok, and I think to myself how important it was that I was there, somebody who knows these mountains, to guide us through the experience. Now I have to carry Bob back up that slope, which I'm not looking forward to, but I can do it.

Back at the top of the slope, I run into Chuck Norris, who is riding around up there on a three-wheeled bicycle (not like a trike, like a bike with two back wheels), showing how he can get around on it. That's how he climbs the mountain, now that he's old, though he's not as frail as Bob.