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352 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 11, 2023
Ahead of a steep downward grade, Chuck noticed the paint had chipped away from the S on a caution sign that had once read SLOW DOWN. “Check it out, cuz,” he said. “We’re on the Lowdown Road.”
“Shit, Chuck. I’ve known that all along.”
“This is some end times shit right here,” said Antoine. “Lord of the Flies with a bunch of redneck peckerwoods. Let’s get this deal done before this whole thing goes nuclear.”
In my research I came across a 1974 Rolling Stone article by Joe Eszterhas called “King of the Goons.” Long before he penned Showgirls, Eszterhas went full gonzo journalist on Knievel’s Snake River Canyon event, making it sound like something out of a Mad Max movie. Having subsequently read more about the event in Leigh Montville’s definitive biography Evel and the quickie paperback Evel Knievel on Tour by Sheldon Saltman (and viewed clips on YouTube and in the 2015 documentary Being Evel), it seems clear that Snake River was indeed a horrific shitshow, but the account in these pages is fictional. - from the author's Afterword.
Weeks have passed since I left the canyons of the snake. ... My pores have finally been freed of that foul dust and my sun-broken lips have finally shed their deadman’s crust. God damn it, though, I can still hear the howls behind that kiddyland picket fence; a jiggling Jello-like wall of flesh is strung around rocks, cottonwoods and sagebrush. Thousands of voices, hypnotic and obsessed, howl at the sun. ‘Eeeeeeeeeeevel. Eeeeeeeeeeeevel. Knieeeeeeeevel!’ Then with a whoosh the beer-bottle-shaped rocket zooms the blue sky and the cheap picket fences come creaking down and swarms of shrieking bodies are hurtling wildly through the dust storms of their own demented creation toward … the abyss, a few hundred feet from them, where the earth stops and there is nothingness, a headlong suicidal swan dive into the vomit green waters of the forsaken Snake.