21/07/2025
The Blind Curve
I’d been riding for years — a Kawasaki Ninja 650, nothing too flashy. That night, I took a familiar route into the woods outside town, just to clear my head. Late October, warm but still — the kind of night where the air feels heavier than usual.
I was geared up. Helmet, armored jacket, gloves. Everything was normal.
About twelve miles out, there’s a curve I know well. It’s not sharp, but it’s blind — dense trees on both sides, and just after the bend, the road dips before flattening out again. No lights. No shoulder. No forgiveness if you screw up.
I hit the curve at around 40, not fast. But as I leaned into it, I saw something in the middle of the road — and everything in me tensed.
A car. Old — like really old. A rusted-out 70s Buick, maybe. Dead center. No lights. No hazards.
I had barely two seconds.
I swerved, hard. My rear tire slipped on wet leaves. I missed the bumper by inches, then hit dirt. The edge of the road vanished. I crashed into the woods — branches whipping at my visor, the bike dragging me down into the dark.
When I came to, I was ten feet from the wreck, arm burning, visor cracked. Dazed, but alive. I crawled back to the road, dazed, and managed to flag down a pickup maybe twenty minutes later.
The driver was this old guy, quiet, pale as hell. He helped me into his truck, called 911. When the cops arrived, they found my bike. But no car. No Buick.
I insisted it was there. Big, boxy, brown. Parked dead center. The old guy gave me a weird look and said, “You saw that old Buick too, huh?”
I nodded.
He looked even paler. Then he told me this….. (check comments)
