The next test of character (and make no mistake, that’s exactly what it was for me), was Route 58. We rode the section from Shandon down to Rt. 33 near Taft, and I have to tell you that in over forty years of riding I’ve never been as baffled by a section of road (or even a section of no road) as I was by that godforsaken piece of tarmac. The problem was a series of rollercoaster- like whoops that went on for what seemed like several miles. As I’d crest one slope, the bike in front of me would disappear from sight down the far side of the hill. At first I just trusted in faith, as I was fairly sure the road didn’t make any abrupt turns but after a mile or so the constant up and down and the sensation of floating over the crest had me on edge, and no matter how hard I tried, I kept backing off the throttle when the bike got light; this let the bike in front gap me, so I’d have to gas it even harder up the next hill to keep up, which in turn caused the bike to get even lighter at the top. It was fun at first, but soon became nerve- wracking, and I was just as happy when the hills ended and the road turned twisty.