HOLLOW EARTH
EXPLORATION CLUB

Germany’s been good for clearing my head so far.

Long flight. Barely slept. Spent the first day feeling like my brain had been stuffed with wet insulation.

Still better than sitting at home staring at old papers and convincing myself forgotten storage keys are somehow important.

Harley-Factory Frankfurt brought me over to look at a rare early bike somebody tracked down in rough shape.

Absolute unicorn of a machine.

The kind of motorcycle collectors whisper about like it’s buried treasure or the Ark of the Covenant.

Mostly rust. Missing parts. Questionable wiring done by at least three different idiots over the last hundred years.

In other words, my kind of disaster.

Been spending most of my time buried in the workshop since I got here.

Oil. Metal. Old tools. Half-disassembled engines.

Honestly feels good working on something real again.

Machines make sense.

Even when they’re broken, they still follow rules.

People don’t.

Memory definitely doesn’t.

Haven’t looked at the Pennington material since I left.

Haven’t called the Legion.

Haven’t gone digging through records online at two in the morning like some sleep-deprived lunatic trying to solve a mystery nobody asked him to solve.

Starting to think maybe some distance from all that nonsense was exactly what I needed.