" After the final train hop in this book I finally began to read a present from my friend Paul, the reissue of Kerouac’s The Dharma Bums, and found it dedicated to a certain Han Shan. Turning to page one, I read: Hopping a freight out of Los Angeles at high noon… By page fourteen, Kerouac was already going into raptures about Han Shan, who happened to dwell and write poems in a wall-less house called Cold Mountain. By page twenty-five he was off for Mount Matterhorn. Well, I’ve been there, too. "

― William T. Vollmann , Riding Toward Everywhere