People ask me why I am doing this one. This book of Getting Out of Dodge. Dirt Bike Town. People have been all over my ass about writing that looks at the deep sense of loss in Appalachia. I’m not doing poverty porn. That would be easy. Right now, I’m only taking the photographs. Commissions are a necessary evil. It has to be on my terms. You don’t always get what you want. You might get what I want. Maybe. The writing is focused on Dirt Bike Town. All the other projects are play time, but you have to have that time to feel the balls of the thing. Dodge City is in Kansas. Dirt Bike Town is Dodge City. I picked it as a location because I have those photographs, too. Dodge is rough. The dirt is in the air. Bite down. It’s called grit. Dirt bike. I did not make the name up. I have a fetish for being able to get out of town any town. It’s hard to be inside cars because most are closed. Like tin cans. With a jeep you can take the doors off. There are bad people in the world, and I have met all of them. Meeting them and knowing them are two different things. I love the dirt bike sound of someone ripping up spacetime. I don’t know what it means. I am thinking of the Appalachian book as: Blueridge Town. I am not sure I want to hear the outcry from my little hater people. I keep looking at clutchless dirt bikes. Last year, Honda sold 20 million bikes. And now we’re walking.