Every hundred years, we have a gathering.

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The metal, well-oiled door of a thousand-year-old garage opens and launches a delightful industrial toy made by intelligent life.

It greets us with its smoke infused with rum, tar, vanilla, and tobacco.

Its robotic arms are collecting weed samples.

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The roar of escorting motorbikes churns through the thin atmosphere, rushing through the recently re-asphalted irrigation canal system until the metallic sheen of their hoods vanishes in copper clouds of beastly sand.

Oh, welcome to the well-known intoxication of driving into infinite space...