The south will rise again?

I half expected some bucktoothed stereotype to emerge from this one house and shoot me with a rusty shotgun as I took a picture of the flag on his lawn.

This is about midway between the villages of Blackville and Doaktown, on the long road to Fredericton from Miramichi. In, erm, New Brunswick. Eastern Canada. You know ... not the American south.

Just the damnedest thing. I'm passing by on my way to an assignment. It's a beautiful, crisp and sunny fall day, with the wind only just picking up, so I'm driving down admiring the colours and suddenly there's a goddamned confederate flag flying on some guy's lawn.

I pulled the car over and snapped some shots. Then I zoomed in on 'em in my camera's viewfinder, and what do I see? One of those German style crosses from WWI, or WWII. I was hoping it was the former. I'd hate to think it was the latter.

Oh god, thought I. There's some crazy white supremacist from Alabama down the road from the city. I mean, should I tell someone? Should I warn the black people in town? I know three by name, and there's probably about a half dozen more, so it shouldn't take too long.

Then I got back to the newsroom, and zoomed in on the writing, which I couldn't see from the distance I took the shot and didn't dare go nearer, in case I really was dealing with some crazed racist.

Couldn't make it all out, but the second word seems to be "chopper." So probably just some guy who really, really likes some brand of motorcycle in the southern united states founded by a fine upstanding citizen of German extraction.

Or something. Bloody Miramichi.