I have always been fascinated by this road. It runs the backbone of Berkeley, along the top of the ridge. It swoops and curves wildly and dangerously, bordered on one edge by massive Eucalypti and on the other by a sharp drop-off. In the mornings, the fog is often so thick as to give mere feet of visibility. And yet, I feel perfectly comfortable driving it at far faster speeds than most people would consider sane. I've been driving it two or three times a day since I could first drive, and was being driven along it long before then. I have memorized its intricacies, its twists, its favorite surprises, but... more than that, I feel a kinship with the road, an understanding. I know that it will not hurt me, and I trust it with myself. It's a silly thing, certainly, but it feels real to me. I often write stories about this road. Poems. It crops up in my fiction all the time. I love this road.