photography by george elder
Roads we rode
Roads so straight you they remind you of the cartoons when Wiley cyote would pick up a winding road and snap it straight. Roads so curvy you slide back on your saddle before you bank into them. Dirt roads that sent dust into your already dry mouth, choking you, reminding you the desert could kill you if it so please. We rode roads that went to 9,000 feet and ones that went to a barb wire fence. We rattled our teeth as we flew over cattle guards and roadkill.
We rode to the edge of our limits and to the end of our bottles. We rode into new friendships and took a lap around old ones. In the end, it became clear that it’s not about the roads your ride, but how you ride them.
In which I think about what the internet can learn from the Chelsea Hotel and Gaslight Tavern
One of the most enduring memories from my childhood is the smell of the exhaust coming out of my Dad’s XKE.