"Where do you want to go?" my husband asked as he backed his bike out of the garage. I responded, like always, with "Oh, I don't care. Where do you want to go?" It's a game old married couples play. We both had places in mind -- they were just different places. And compromise is not our best thing.

Like so many riders, we tend to stick to our favorite routes. I like heading to the back roads around Beaver County, where I grew up, to enjoy miles and miles of beautiful two lane roads, with lots of twisty turns and elevation changes to keep things interesting. My mate's default favorite ride is north to Slate Lick, where the roads are mostly deserted and the curves are extra challenging.

Kimberlee Love

Kimberlee Love and her husband encountered these baby pygmy goats on a recent ride not far from their home.

On this particular afternoon though, oddly, and without another word, we left home with no singular destination in mind.

After just 20 minutes of riding, while on Warrendale-Bayne Road, my eagle-eyed partner spotted something and signaled that he wanted to pull over. Now, he'll pull off for anything and everything (he once pulled off a busy race track, mid-lap, when he saw a red-winged blackbird) so I was a bit irritated at the delay.

Then I saw what he'd seen: a herd of baby pygmy goats in a large enclosure, playing with a huge ball. The kids, some not much bigger than our cats, were battling it out, Ninja Warrior-style, for top position on the ball. We watched for a while from the side of the road, mesmerized by their antics.

Soon a couple of young ladies appeared, with parents in tow, and we were invited to meet the cavorting goats. The girls were proud of their goats; the parents proud of their girls. We learned all the kids' names, including my favorite, Casper, the Friendly Goat, and learned a bit about raising goats.

We spent a good hour in good company, and by the time we got back on our bikes we'd lost a chunk of riding time. But I will remember forever the sight of my husband, The Incredible Bulk, holding a tiny pot-bellied goat, laughing as it nibbled on his tattooed forearm.

Back on the road I was in front, and determined to lead us straight to Hank's Frozen Custard, my favorite childhood ice cream stand. But just minutes from my dream destination I spotted the wildest miniature golf course I'd ever seen, and it was my turn to make an unscheduled stop.

The big guy and I can't resist a game of goofy golf and Frontier Falls on Route 65 is a great place to get your goof on. We pulled off our helmets, plunked down $10 and picked up a couple of clubs. Our bikes once again sat idle while we enjoyed the lush landscaping and waterfalls, killing 18 holes -- and another hour -- like teenagers on a first date.

Later, as we sat at a picnic table at Hanks, frozen custard dripping down our wrists, I felt foolish knowing we'd burned through a whole afternoon and hadn't made it 20 miles from home. I vowed not to waste another weekend ride getting all geared up to ride "nowhere." But then I thought of Marlon Brando's famous line in "The Wild One" and felt proud of our spontaneous low-mileage day. When asked where he was going to ride, Brando's character, Johnny, replies, "You don't go any one special place. That's cornball style. You just go."