When I left, it was winter.
I had arrived on a clear cold August night. Stopping on the butte overlooking the canyon, I wondered if there was any reason not to simply continue riding north.
To be continued…
First line courtesy of The Oracle. But yours won’t be the same.
The reason presented itself in the impartial blinking of the fuel light. By the time I rode into town, the engine had died and I coasted silently into the gas station to the bemused stares of a few bystanders.