Rolling© By Bob Shallenberger

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Grav­el hides on the wind­ing asphalt as the curve looms inno­cent. Signs stream togeth­er, red and orange blur with­out warn­ing. Rub­ber clench­es, grasps, releas­es and repeats — eleven times. Tracks swirling behind, the strik­ing met­al skates in rhythm. Expert reflex­es turn to anx­ious pan­ic pro­vid­ing no relief or hope. End over end the rub­ber and steel bang. The tires touch …