Chopper Hostel

It’s really not a house, it’s a cabin. To call it a house would be a stretch. if it was defined as a house it would barely be a lousy one. It’s a roof with woodstove. it leans to the north; the roof leaks and it freezes up solid when it gets cold. it’s the Danger Hut and it’s my home.

Damn near lost the motherfucker to some cunt tryin’ to buy it out from under me. It’s a dirty move but I guess it’s standard procedure here in the dirty south. 50 bucks in back taxes almost cost me four years’ worth of work and all my plans for Chopper Hostel. Thanks to some behind the scenes hustlin’ and some very kind and generous donations from the likes of you I am payin’ the few thousand to keep it on Tuesday and I cannot express my gratitude enough for the support, but know it saved my home and it didn’t go unappreciated.

I’m not a material guy, never have been. I have a few possessions and the one’s I do have I’ve had forever. I’m not some fuckin’ monk or anything it’s just that I don’t like complications holdin’ me down, so puttin’ all my eggs in one piece of shit house was a big deal. Almost losing it made me realize that the Chopper Hostel is one of those possessions and I need to protect it.

This shit hole has come a long way but it’s still just a decent cabin and that’s fine with me. I don’t need much, a roof, some heat and a place to paint and I’m straight. Daily I strive to make the Danger Hut easier during the cold months and focus on the few acres that surround it and the developing campsites becoming more attractive every season.

I settled into one of the poorest regions of southern West Virginia. Everybody is piss poor, there’s no jobs and basically no industry, just miles upon miles of some of the best roads for riding in the country. I’m tryin’ to scape a living together based on those simple facts. A cool place to hang with great riding in the mountains…that’s the dream I’m building on.

But, greed runs the world and now that the garbage is cleared, my place is worth enough that somebody is willing to undermine me to get it. Thats a complement I guess, or I have convinced myself of it. I’m done bein’ chronically angry at a world I can’t change. Fuck it, I gotta chop some wood, it’s easier when you’re gritting your teeth anyway.

Now, with this and the nations election behind me I can stop thinkin’ about the world and just sinkin’ further into the mountains with my dog, some weed and the Latowski inviting a few friends to stop by. I really have no use for the craziness and pressure of this new ‘connected’ world and the assholes that inhabit it. Not that all people are assholes but there sure are a lot of ’em out there and I’m sick of tryin’ to figure out who’s who.

After this excitement I’m happy to be back to choppin’ wood, makin’ plans and just makin’ it in this cold Appalachian winter. It’s a simple life without any grand plans for global dominance but it suits me fine. Simple is good, there’s usually no surprises with simple… but apparently the outside world can seep on in if your guard is down.

I’m done with the craziness. The world is glazed in it and for a time, they wanted you to embrace it. I think everyone could do with a dose of the simple life. It would give fools a chance to see what is truly important and not what the popular problem is today.

After scambling funds, trekkin’ to the statets capital and payin’ way to much to keep my shed in my possession I left the the State Auditors office with only a simple receipt for all my effort and that was enough. Somehow, keeping my shitty little shed was all that mattered, and still does.

I was born with a man sized portion of wander lust. One of the smartest thinga I did was give in to it, packed up the bike and became homeless. Not taking this path would have become my biggest regret. There’snot a moment that goes by that I don’t look back ay all thoose years and snicker at the good time that was had. Sure I have regrets, but livin’ those years on the bike hAas never been one of them.

Although I’m good at life on the road, I suck at bein’ domesticated. I’m wired like a Springer Spaniel with the attention span of a 4-year-old on a sugar high. Every morning I wake up with all the previous days plans long forgotten and every day is a new adventure, it fuckin’ blows but hey, that’s life.

That’s why the road worked so well for me. When you spend a few weeks on a bike every day is a new adventure encapsulated in 24 hours. Changing roads, changing scenery, changing campsites, every day you start new. That mentality is a hard one to shake. Years after I dropped the kickstand and I’m still strugglin’ with my focus over periods of time longer than 24.

But I’m learning now that I’m wakin’ up to the same campsite morning after morning, I’m starting to come around but instances like almost loosin’ my digs reminds me that I’m no longer on the road. If I lose this place, I’m too old and broken to start eatin’ the miles again. I have a home now and if I wanna keep it I better slow my head down and steer the proverbial ship with intent.

Now I have the deed to my kingdom securely locked away and safe from my absentmindedness I need to admit my domestication, maybe buy some furniture and get comfortable being tied down with responsibilities. Maybe I’ll drop everything and hit the road again, but I sincerely doubt it, I’m pretty happy here.

I want to thank everyone that’s helped with this delema, the many before and definately those to surely come. I can’t say this is the last mistake I will make in this locally situated life I have ridden to, it’ll happen again and othen unfortunately.

For now, I am going to settle in and celebrate, what I consider, a victory. We live to fight another day. So, the fires have settled, and the smoke cleared, Butters and I still have a home…life is full of obstacles. The best you can hope for is to muddle through by any means possible and after all is said and done ,makin’ it is its own reward.

“GTP” out