There are some places we've been in this country that have actively frightened us. For example, Hunter's Point in San Francisco. Also notably Ozona, a wide spot in Interstate 10 where we stopped for gas while driving a So-Cal Speed Shop Plymouth Prowler from Pomona to Houston on a ten-day roadtrip. Pulling into tha O for gas and a smoke break, a pickup full of men who were likely suffered from a lack of genetic diversity and healthy methamphetamine habits.

One of the men sidled up to the Prowler with a glint in his eye I didn't much care for and offered some advice: "Now boy, I'd be careful with that car. Someone's liable to try an' take it from you. I'm not sayin' I would, but you never know how people can be around here." I immediately headed off to San Antonio.

We caught Tim Barry's solo set last night. Tim hails from Richmond, Virginia and has logged 50,000 miles hopping freight trains when he's not rocking your face in Avail. Tim is also a big dude that we would not want to fistfight. When we mentioned that we were recently in Birmingham, Alabama, he enthused, "Oh man. I love Birmingham. It's just so backasswards." Clarkson, Hammond and May? We get the feeling that they didn't particularly share Barry's taste for a trip through 'Bama.

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