Through the Rotten Timber

The culvert ran out at an old spur line where a rotted timber loading dock hung low over the tracks. Directly across my run lay a splintered plank of creosote-soaked pine, jagged and damp with oil sludge. No wide turn to dodge it. I dropped into low gear, feeling the raspy mechanical thrum rattle deep through my steel frame, and drove the knobby front tire straight against the rotting grain. Soft pulp yielded with a sharp crack. Rubber bit hard through the soggy fibers, spraying grey splinters across the front fork as raw torque shoved me up and onto the firm ballast beyond.