Kicked the kickstand into a crack on the concrete pad behind an abandoned highway weigh station. The engine ticked slow as it shed heat into the dry night air. I unclipped the canvas bedroll from the rear strut and rolled it flat over a sheltered wooden pallet out of the crosswind. Pulled my pocket knife, carved off a thick slice of dried beef jerky from my pack, and chewed it slow while looking out across miles of dark prairie grass. No headlights for twenty miles in either direction. Unlaced my boots halfway, leaned back against the motorcycle's warm front tire, and let the quiet sink in. Time to sleep.