Don't Ride a Motorcycle Recklessly Through Unfamiliar Small-Town Alleys — Seeing Isn't Always Believing

In the evening, while I and a visiting friend sat in the backyard of a home in an old small town, playing with cats and drinking coffee, Mizuc saw three brats each riding a motorcycle, turning from an intersection where you’d never see anyone ride a bike even once in years, into this maze-like old neighborhood.

While still wondering why they came in from that side, I noticed they were about to keep boring into another even older alley.

Mizuc hurriedly waved to warn them, shouting that that old alley doesn’t allow motorcycles in. They did hear it — the two behind slowed down hesitantly. But the brat in the lead still insisted on leading them, forcing the motorcycles to squeeze in.

Unlike the appearance seen from outside, the entrance of this old alley looks quite roomy, nearly a meter wide, but once inside you find it quickly narrows to about the width of one person.

And not only narrow, the middle section has several very hard 90-degree consecutive turns. When Mizuc passes through the alley on rainy days, I even have to close my umbrella to get through.

And not only narrow with many turns, the road surface in the alley is even pockmarked and uneven, and on rainy days a large amount of slippery red mud flows down from the old abandoned houses on one side. Once it even buried a stretch of the alley.

Soon, various low growls of people adjusting their angles, along with the sound of metal scraping against stone, began to come out of the alley.

Ah, my poor red brick wall, it must hurt so much from being scraped? I once even lay on the ground of the old alley, carefully studying those charming old red bricks.

(Mysterious voice: No, you were just knocked to the ground from behind by your own dog Dubi and were unconscious for a while.)