There was a sharp turn in the road. Peter was still ahead, riding his fastest. I peddled faster too, but I couldn’t catch up.

He made a wide turn around the bend, and disappeared from sight by the overgrown forest. I slowed down, like I always do while turning; I’d fallen many times on a turn and would rather take precautions.

When I got around, I saw Peter, off his bike, walking up a hill that continued to a bridge. I quickly rode up to him and got off to walk too. It wasn’t that steep, but we were tired.

“So, think the end’s over this hill?” he asked.

“I doubt it. This is going to keep going on for miles.”

“Yeah, this is kind of weird,” Peter said.

When we reached the top of the bridge, we stopped. While gazing at everything, Peter spotted a path, below us. It led somewhere in the woods, but looked like it was used quite a bit. We walked down the rest of the hill and found the entrance to the path.

“So this place isn’t entirely deserted after all,” Peter said.

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