A Place to Stay WE DRAFTED ALL THE wAv into Bellows Falls, behind a semi deadheading back to St. Johnsbury. The trucker knew some people Lewis John knew. We hooked up with him in PA, where he waking up at a 76 Stop on Route Bl. He was just told us he had a mint Super Glide in his mother's Rurage in Claremont, so when he saw Lewis John's che red Sportster with a Vermont plate, he didn't feel so far afield We'd worked the year in Texas, south of San Antonio, l didn't have a place to stay after we lit up the line, so l came north with Lewis John. We figured we'd stay at his place for a month until the next big line job opened, maybe down in Australia. Lewis John had been leaning toward Australia ever since he heard Tasmania was two hundred miles o the coast. He said he wanted to see the devili Early that evening we pulled into the Dery Cafe on High Street. We took off our helmets and lay back against our packs. I put my feet on the front pegs and Lewis John crossed his legs over the gas tank of his bike like a skinny Buddha. "So, Lewis John. When's the last time you were home?" "Not since San Antonio." "She's all you said she was." I scanned the plywood over the windows and the garbage heaped in the alleys "She's something all right," Lewis John said "See those tracks down there? My cousin broke a guy's arms over those rails. That boy was a wild one." If I hadn't been so tired, I think I would've turned my bike around and aimed it out of there. Rural Vermont wasn't