The forest is a compost heap and I'm on a silver centipede pounding double-time through Deep Musty. Big Banger thuds softly—nothing can stop this engine, man, nothing! The rain falls harder and my hands numb from the cold, wet gloves. I can sense it, further on. More throttle, Big Banger lunges to 70 mph, 3000 rpm. Not enough—more! Seventy-five—it's just ahead, it has to be! Faster still, Big Banger's exhaust begins to drone. God, it feels good to shiver—I never want to die! Squirming black road iridescent with oil rising, cut dark green left, dull gray light blasts through a gap, asphalt yawning, stretching. Raining harder, Big Banger's wheels are circular rivers, water streams from my visor, turn to clear and see trees blurring, and right now each curve is exactly where it should be, exactly!