Miles and miles of shortcuts dotted through a town, when measured in circumference was no larger than four miles in total. Alleys, gardens and abandoned lots were fair game. If it was fenced, the bikes were flung over, and the riders, under. The destination was never so important as the journey and no one ever passed up an opportunity to cross a near-empty stream or ride past the shack near the edge of town, just to arrive no sooner to Jason's house than if they would have taken the streets. The bland, grey streets; well-marked and cleared.
The more famous shortcuts had been well-traveled by older and more experienced adventurers for many previous years. They had been named for their levels of usefulness and potential for danger.
