Latigo Canyon Road clings to cliffs with the assurance of an elderly undertaker.
They took the hairpin curves slowly, five of them in a recently acquired Mercedes GLS, on their way home from a hike to Castro Crest.
They talked about what masks to wear and settled on the ones worn just long enough to create an impression.
All that matters, they agreed, is to keep changing. The trick is to switch just before the mask stops working. It’s when you float down a river and cut over to the bank just before the waterfall.
They liked the notion of a jittery pace, erratic and indecipherable, akin to a blackjack dealer in Reno whose methods forever remain unknown.
On the hairpin curves along Latigo Canyon Road, they couldn’t help but notice all the gashes and dents embedded in the long gray guardrails.
