I wander America on a Harley Davidson motorcycle, sleep on couches and in fifty-dollar motel rooms, eat at Waffle House and Main Street cafes, and have conversations with people whose politics I might not agree with. These are our stories.
The Revival
The Harley Davidson Revival represents America at one of its finest hours, 1969, Neil Armstrong, Civil Rights, color TVs in walnut cabinets, shag carpeting.
Ursula
Ursula, a thrice divorced born-again Christian who rides a Harley and has a prosthetic leg.
Headstones from the 1700s
Headstones from the 1700s
Trail of Tears
A group of Indian nations consisting of the Cherokee, the Chickasaw, the Choctaw, the Muscogee and the Seminole (the “five civilized tribes”) were forcibly relocated from their ancestral homes in the southeastern United States to areas west of the Mississippi. Along the way, thousands died of exposure, disease and starvation. Yesterday I rode parts of the Trail of Tears.
Confederate Outhouse
Confederate Outhouse
City of Lights
Jayde was a victim of sex trafficking by men in the Marine Corps and unable to escape. Her mother hadn’t believed her.
Laney
In Leeds, not too far from Birmingham, Vicky owns a café called Laney’s. Her daughters, Sharon and Laney, do the managing and cooking, Sharon’s daughter, Lillian, makes the biscuits. Hot and buttery and crispy brown on the outside, served with pepper gravy, those biscuits are so worth the sore butt of getting there.
When The Road Is Good
Once in a while, when the road is good and the air temperature and humidity and the thrum of intake, ignition and exhaust are just so, motorcycling creates its own ethereality. Yesterday was like that.
Dad and Son
The boots are the story
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