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.
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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.
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