MinnKota Railfan
Main Street America - St. Ansger, IA
Peering down a faded blacktop strip, narrow hastily marked pullouts define a line of fogged windows, wind-swept porches, and vinyl brick and mortar storefronts giving memory to days of yesterday.
Fresh oil stains follow a flatbed 73 Chev', worn and tired much like the wrinkled man in the seat. a clod of earth falls from the rust covered rocker as he dons a one finger wave and a nod from the brim of his creased DeKalb hat. Left foot heavy on the clutch, a glazed right indicator, and in a cloud of smoke he's gone.
Life passes by a little slower in Small Town USA. Main Street America, in the form of little communities speckled across fly-over states. Each place a testament to the power of togetherness, collaboration, and good company.
Thinking to yourself - Funny how a melody sounds like a memory - A neon red Beer on Tap sign flickers atop a corner bar. The rack of pool cues, aroma of pub fare, and familiar sound of Lynyrd Skynyrd dilute the senses. A select few seek asylum from the pestilence of today with a nicotine drag courtesy of the Marlboro Man himself.
Of Iron Horses and Broken Men. The story hasn't changed, but the page has turned. Main Street America lives on.
Main Street America - St. Ansger, IA
Peering down a faded blacktop strip, narrow hastily marked pullouts define a line of fogged windows, wind-swept porches, and vinyl brick and mortar storefronts giving memory to days of yesterday.
Fresh oil stains follow a flatbed 73 Chev', worn and tired much like the wrinkled man in the seat. a clod of earth falls from the rust covered rocker as he dons a one finger wave and a nod from the brim of his creased DeKalb hat. Left foot heavy on the clutch, a glazed right indicator, and in a cloud of smoke he's gone.
Life passes by a little slower in Small Town USA. Main Street America, in the form of little communities speckled across fly-over states. Each place a testament to the power of togetherness, collaboration, and good company.
Thinking to yourself - Funny how a melody sounds like a memory - A neon red Beer on Tap sign flickers atop a corner bar. The rack of pool cues, aroma of pub fare, and familiar sound of Lynyrd Skynyrd dilute the senses. A select few seek asylum from the pestilence of today with a nicotine drag courtesy of the Marlboro Man himself.
Of Iron Horses and Broken Men. The story hasn't changed, but the page has turned. Main Street America lives on.