Vindicate me, O God, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation;
rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.
Imagine me riding down Route 30, nominally coming from the east and heading west. Coming along there, I’d just ridden down a steep grade. I’m going about 30 mph; maybe a little slower. The road goes through a kind of complicated intersection so I don’t just let ‘er rip most of the time. At the bottom of the hill is a relatively small underpass (you can see Route 9 going over my path in the map above), the kind with perfectly vertical walls. The lanes — one in each direction — narrow significantly there, and I tend to place myself just slightly right of the middle of the road because there are, in succession, a killer grate, dead pigeons, and lots of patches in the road. This has worked fine in the past, and most drivers wait patiently until we clear the underpass before passing me.