The ride I’ve been favoring most recently is about twenty-five miles of unthinking response. It seems to have the densest concentration of three-dimensionality of any stretch of road I’m familiar with, including about a half-mile of consecutive zero-gee rises and turns piled upon turns through rolling green fields and dark cool forests. It’s a seamless stream of pushing the bars from one extreme to the other, digging deep into the corners, hanging, leaning, perching up far forward over the tank, accelerating and braking all at once. I come out physically tired, grinning, and not sure where I’ve been. I wish this verdant semi-rural playground were a little closer to home, but I’ll just have to live with it.
And no, I'm not going to tell where it is.