I like it here in America.

Last night I accompanied my roommates John and Hagen to Austin to look at a motorcycle we were thinking about working on as a project bike. The following is our story:

We set off at around 6 o'clock in the evening to go see this bike, putting the address into the handy dandy Google Maps so we'd be sure to have no problems finding the right place.

Google led us around all reputable parts of Austin and then right into the armpit. In. To. The. Armpit. We passed block after block of shabby yards in front of broken down houses as we wound our way deeper into what seemed a lugubrious warren of broken dreams. I speak of course about Little Mexico. Shoddy yards, shabby houses, souped up cars in garish colors and outrageous rims parked in front of every fifth or sixth house, low riders filling the driveways in between. Brown children played soccer in the streets while older siblings and cousins sat around the yards watching out. Watching out for what became evident later.

As we made our way through the maze of disconsolates I noticed, amidst the scattered detritus, several other motorcycles that were either being used for parts or had been wantonly and haphazardly stolen from. Later on the latter became the evident truth.

We pull up to our destination and I note that it is comparatively a nice house; set back from the road, large size, well kempt and newly sodded yard, ubiquitous flashy car.

We Parked across the road and walked up the respectable, yet not overly long, driveway and rapped on the door. Nothing happens except a hurried yet subdued sound of people shuffling about. I look around a bit and notice a window on the upper floor overlooking the front porch is open. John glimpses and whispers 'there are cameras in the corners.' A quick glance shows that indeed there are security cameras overlooking the front of the and sides of the house. Were there more? I can't say, but at this point my hackles raised and I started to get a lot more scared. After a minute or two a woman pokes her head out an upper door and inquired as to how she could help us. John stated we were there about a motorcycle and she disappears back into the house.

Several moments after that a rather large and shirtless Hispanic man with a name tattooed across his chest and a skull with roses tatted on his hand comes out the door as seemingly out of nowhere 4 more hombres saunter up to the house, give as a look over, and go inside. He asks if we're the guys from Marble Falls, and upon our confirmation of this opens the garage and produces the bike. He informs us that it had been stolen and stripped for parts. Several previous images begin to make sense. The bike is missing the tank and much of the body, but still starts up. The forks are bent and the wiring to the lights has been cut. It's obviously been laid on it's side at least once though he says it wasn't wrecked. He tries to push a sale by mentioning several other people are coming over with money for it.

After politely stating we'll let him know what we decide we walk nonchalantly albeit apprehensively back to our car where we note that there are already several young Hispanics looking it over. I should state here that John drives a '98 Cadillac. As we near the car the young men saunter next door to where their father/uncle/cousin is and start talking lowly to him. We drive off with no further adieu, not interested to stay around this uncomfortable establishment. We casually meander back through the neighborhoods and finally out onto the open road where we release a collective sigh of relief and some nervous laughter.

Teasingly we jibe each other about how scared we actually were yet wouldn't give face too and after several miles of nerve relieving road are behind us we decide that as we are in Austin we should stop and eat and not make a total waste of a trip.

Once we were securely inside the brightly lit and comfortably located Buffalo Wild Wings the last vestiges of apprehension fall off our shoulders and our conversation turns to other topics while we enjoyed our mango lemonades and medley of wings. All is right in the world.