As we drove through the little mining town hidden in the valley at the base of the great mountains, the well-tanned warden who was driving diverted off the main drag, up a steep gravel side street to the small chapel overlooking most of town.

He was disappointed. I had told this fundamentalist friend about this small community church. Which serves Protestants, Catholics, Mormons and Buddhists alike, all in the same Sunday services. All with the same minister, a man we both know.

I think he expected it to look different. Satanic somehow, or maybe painted in garish hippy colours.

He was clearly disappointed.

As we wended our way back to the main street, and headed towards the highway, I noticed something a little odd.

He was driving on the left side of the dirt streets. Even around corners.

You know what people like around here?

Driving on the right.

"Oh! I'm still on St. John's!"

And back to the right he went.