Go West Young Man!

32 Days and 5,536 Miles On My Vintage Motorcycle

The western cut of Texas was laid out special for travellers. Anywhere beyond the state, be it west or east, you are so much closer to home. This almost infinite breadth of space is sufficient to fill with all your thoughts, and you're afforded the time to organize all those memories, ideas and resolutions. I couldn't tell you word one I turned over in my head in all that time, but I know it was an important part of locking the past weeks experiences in the deepest canyons of my mind.

When I reached Dallas I stopped at Weinerschnitzel for one last chili wanger dog and called my grandpa for the first time in a month. We talked about riding and laughed for a while at what a gypsy I had become. A sub-ten minute oil change that afternoon stood in stark contrast to the unrefined disaster way back in Las Vegas, NM. I finally found one last soggy piece of ground to pitch my tent on. Atmosphere scraping cell phone towers beared down on me as I listened to "Silver Stallion" by the Highwaymen and let the riot going on in my mind push me through the door to sleep.


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