You're riding gracefully in the Jemez Mountains of Northern New Mexico, on your CBR 600 F3, or maybe your Ducati 900SS. You're really in the groove today, everything just feels right. You flip delicately through a little chicane, and the bike is just beautifully responsive. Whoop-oop, you're through and lining up for the next turn.


Another left sweeper--beautiful! You're remembering all over again why you love motorcyling. You brake hard for a hairpin right, and then accellerate.

Wow, it looks like another chicane ahead - you love these right-left-right pathways. You accelerate.

Then brake again, as late as you can manage. Ooohhh, yes! right-left-oh my God.

You hear the horrifying Song of the Sausage Creature echo through your mind for a moment.

Gravel. Right there; it was in the shadow of a tree, you didn't see it. The traction of your Pirelli Dragon radial gives out at 50 miles an hour, then as the tire clears the gravel, it regains traction violently, pitching you off and over. Your helmet smashes into the tree and everything goes black.

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