In Texas, somewhere.  The rain comes, tank´s bike quits.  Wet coil we think.  the darkness comes as we huddle under an overhang to access the problem.  There is an abandoned block of houses next us.  we found a garage that would work for a sleep that had been destroyed by local kids and years of abandonment.  We pushed our bikes in, found a broom, and cleared a space.  Once we got settled, we fixed the bike and  began to explore the depths of the remnants of the man, Jim Justice. 

He was an artisan, a poet, a sculptor.  We found extremely romantic love letters to a woman, a stack of poetry typed on a type writer, and handwritten stories from Vietnam.  We cooked food on our camp stove and delved into the life of an artist in a small forgotten town. 

Not exactly 5 star, but the depth of the night can not be matched.

We´re pretty sure he had built the garage himself.  Thanks Jim.