It's three miles to town, and then two minutes to get past the two traffic signals. Wending down past the high school, the landscape quickly turns rural again. Past the left-hander where I always worry about deer, and then the pace picks up. Within moments I'm already having to back out of the throttle, rediscovering the deceptive smoothness of the bike-70 in a 45 doesn't work just yet. "Patience," I tell myself. I hug the white line near the shoulder through the long sweeping right-hander-the one where cars are always drifting across the centerline. And then a few quick miles and suddenly there's Panorama appearing on the left, a small, obscure ribbon of black emerging out of the woods. One of the secrets I discovered many years ago. Now I can relax a bit.