So last week, I did the inevitable: I broke Trikeasaurus.

That’s the bad news. The good news was that while attempting to fix Trikeasaurus, the whole episode turned into a simple yet immensely satisfying return to my North Carolina* roots.

You see, as I don’t like cars much, I miss out on one of the great joys of my cultural heritage. Luckily the following image (after the jump) is as close as I’ll ever get to a certain primal yearning that was programmed into me from my youthful surroundings:
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