In 1997 I rode a motorcycle on an 11 week tour of the USA beginning and ending in San Francisco. After crossing the Mississippi, ever time I got off a freeway, I ended up in a housing project. I mean every damn time. New Orleans French Quarter. Charleston. Alexandria. Boston. Connecticut. Chi town. Gary Indiana. Every damn time.
I aired up the bike tires in Charleston and there was a little ghetto kid begging for air for his bicycle when I was done, which I was happy to give him.
Hated walking from my hotel along the projects on the way to the French Quarter each day. Nobody bothered me but I would not have booked that hotel if I knew otherwise.
I need that ap!