The roar of the engine filled Jakes ears, plastering a smile to his face. He wasn’t going particularly fast - according to the readout on the dash he was doing exactly the speed limit - but he was throwing his weight into each of the corners, the motorcycle fluidly transitioning from a hard lean to the left, over to the right, and then back again.

This was why he rode. There was nothing quite like the flow state where man and machine became one. His thoughts melted away, there was nothing in his world except that exact moment. His eyes were fixed on the next corner, his body shifting it’s weight without any conscious effort.

He saw the car coming as he came out onto the straight. Trees lined both sides of the road, and the mountain dominated his mirrors, but all Jake could see was the vehicle hurtling toward him on his side of the road.

It was only a second away when he realised it wasn’t changing it’s path. A short distance behind it, on the correct side of the road, another car was coming toward him. He couldn’t swerve across the road to get out of the way.

He took the only option he had - pushing the left handlebar away from himself.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He felt his weight shifting to the left, leaning the bike over. He could smell burning rubber as the car braked - or perhaps it was the other car further back. He saw the whites of the drivers wide eyes as the car reached him.

It hit his back tire a moment before Jake could get off the road entirely. The impact flung Jake away from his bike. For an instant Jake felt like he was flying upward, away from the carnage, but then gravity reasserted itself. He hit the ground hard.

His forward momentum made him jump like a skimming stone, and suddenly Jake lost track of which direction was up. His feet had skipped off the ground, flipping him upside down. His helmet hit the ground next, jerking his neck forward until his chin rested against his chest. He wasn’t sure what part of him hit what after that, only that he was being struck from every direction. Stepping into a tornado of bowling balls would have been calmer.

Finally, he came to a halt.

He was lying on his back, staring up at the clear blue sky. His visor had popped open during his tumble, and dirt had been scraped through the opening to sprinkle on his face. It smelled pleasant, like freshly cut grass. He had a moment to marvel at how he’d come to a stop at the foot of an old oak tree, and then the pain hit him like a train.

Jake passed out.