Go throw your leg over something, find an empty road with a few corners, and scrape some pegs. I’m in the middle of a ten-day motorcycle tour of the bottom half of California, and if you can, I recommend it.

I’ve been on the run from a particularly savage band of Muskian firsters for 29 Martian sols. Luckily I have my old reliable Tomahawk to help me stay one step ahead of them. 

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