Slotted Iron Run

Past the yellow tactile pad, the asphalt gutter funneled straight toward a cast-iron storm drain grate. The parallel slots ran parallel to my line—dropping a knobby tire into those gaps would wedge the rim instantly. I cut power, dismounted, and set both boots onto the concrete curb to survey the void. A flattened aluminum beverage can lay crushed against the curb face. I kicked it flat under my boot heel, folded the metal lengthwise into a rigid channel, and bridged the two central iron slots. Remounted, gripped the handlebars, and eased the throttle forward. The tires tracked over the crimped aluminum runner and cleared the iron pit onto solid blacktop.