These new hills, corners, traffic controls and street dynamics are both intriguing and fearsome. My new neighborhood in Portland’s southwest hills are no laughing matter when it comes to vying for position and knowing exactly when to lean, when to yield, and when to open it up.
I took a short sweeper yesterday on the way to work and still relatively unfamiliar with the terrain, I dipped alongside and passed a woman driving her sleek, tinted Camry. I thought to myself that if I happen to low side because of these wet leaves or morning frost, this lady during her commute may just kill some idiot on his motorcycle.
Lose-lose situation for everyone.
Despite the real life fear of collisions or lay downs, these twisting, forested roads are like hard candy, single-laned Novocaine and bliss wrapped in violent revolutions of pistons and gross, unbroken horsepower. Mysteriously but helplessly fueling the greasy lust of a rider who relentlessly chases some yellow line that leads to an imaginary finish.
Why or wherever that may be.