RACING FAST, MOUNTAIN HIGH
Nicki and I were riding along a minor country road in the Czech Republic, on our way from the nearly unpronounceable town of Znojmo to the nearly pronounceable city of Brno, when we came across a clearly marked sign – ‘road closed’.
A truck pulled up alongside, the driver wound down his window, and mimed that we should proceed. We mimed back that the road was closed, but he seemed insistent, so on we rode. After a couple of miles, both sides of the road had been excavated. We carried on cautiously, thinking that perhaps it wasn’t quite right to be there, but the sight of an oncoming car made it seem legitimate.
That is, until the car’s roof lights flashed blue and the police siren sounded. Oops! We stopped and were told that the road was closed. But, we protested, the truck driver said to continue. This banter continued until
