They've all left for greener pastures. I can remember when there was only a couple hundred of us.
It all went to shit when they started letting just anybody in...
this place used to be fucking awesome.
It still is sometimes. You just have to pick your time or place.
And I to my motorcycle parked like the soul of the junkyard. Restored, a bicycle fleshed with power, and tore off. Up Highway 106 continually drunk on the wind in my mouth. Wringing the handlebar for speed, wild to be wreckage forever.
- James Dickey, Cherrylog Road.
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