The morning we left from Arkansas Taichi had a little spill. He gashed up his knee and split his eyebrow, but because his Japanese blood doesn't allow him to feel pain he just kept on truckin'. His gas tank was cracked but it was so big that it really didn't matter. He literally proceeded to ride 500 miles with a laceration that most people would need stitches, but not Taichi. We got some super glue and he pulled some samurai shit and was ready to go. Some locals stopped to lend us a hand in repairing his bike. It seems when you are on a motorcycle everyone automatically lives vicariously through you and goes out of their way to help. This was not the first time a total stranger lent us a helping hand.
This is pretty much the whole fucking state of Kansas.
Jeremiah tried to start a fight with one of the locals who was probably 9. Then his older brother decided to step in. He quickly developed a man crush on Jeremiah. They touched tips, and then he told us about all the pussy he was slaying at the time. He also informed us that he and the infamous Jesse James were about to form their own chopper club and we weren't invited.