The old cruiser sits abandoned, coolant pissing out of its egnine. A reminder of a poorly planned $600 decision, with blown head gaskets and all. Yet, it serves as a symbol of that American freedom. The idiotic optimism that I have trying to fix it similar to the insurmountable odds that our country has faced before, and faces again with fascists t wisting our very morales to a stench even God finds offensive, in an effort to stamp that flame out. Yet that hope and optimism remain as the bike roars to life and I ride. American is not dead, you just have to find it which is when you’re on the free and open road.