After a couple days in Nashville, I finally got around to tracking down the motorcycle and visiting it to see if it would start. It took some extended cranking, one push down a small hill, and a tiny shot of starting fluid, but it did finally shake off its slumber and start. It appears no worse for the extended sitting.
I leave tomorrow for Little Rock. Everyone in Nashville is alarmed, bordering on horrified, that I would stay or even stop anywhere in Arkansas. It's the kind of reaction I'd give a visitor to Seattle if they told me they were going to walk across Alaska with just a tarp and a couple juice boxes. Maurice Clemmons, the West Memphis 3, and the rape/murder of Daisy Bates were all cited as exact examples of what would happen to me at the end of the first Arkansas exit offramp I took.
We'll see. This isn't 1987 Columbia for God's sake. This is America. Talk to you tomorrow.
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