I came around the blind curve on the way back down to the Colorado Trail trailhead, and grabbed a couple of big hands full of brakes. Tony was lying in the trail, his bike nowhere in sight.
I skidded to a halt, just as Tony started to sit up.
"What happened?" I asked, as he stood up. "Where's your bike?"
"I don't know, where it is," he replied.
Tony went on to tell me what had happened: As he had come around the bend in the trail rolling at about 15 mph, a mountain sheep had stepped out of the trees and into the middle of the single-track. Tony t-boned the sheep, and was launched off of the bike. Apparently, it knocked him out for a minute, because he had no memory of where the sheep, or his bike, had ended up.
I put my bike to one side, and walked back up the trail a few yards, looking downslope into the underbrush. Soon, I saw Tony's bike lying in the bushes, 20 feet off of the slope. I climbed down and got it for him, then we continued down to Waterton Canyon.
I noticed that Tony was going a bit slower, though. I think he had eaten enough wool, for one day.