Here is a story I wrote.

The wind claws at her eyes, but she grins ferociously as the tears pour down her face. Gordon was right, this hill is worth the drive. She readjusts her front foot slightly. She must be doing thirty, she thinks, as she checks over her shoulder for any cars. None. She is in an aggressive lunging crouch, perched on her longboard. Her arms held back and relaxed belie the adrenalin coursing through her body. Her legs twitch slightly, sending minute course corrections to her board. Almost unconsciously, she turns slightly to avoid a small rock. That one was probably not large enough to kill her, but better safe. Blinking away the tears, she double checks for oncoming traffic. Seeing none, she checks behind herself once more. There. One car. Red. Mid-size. Maybe ten seconds back. She drifts into the oncoming lane and waits. As the car passes, she grins at the startled driver. One pair of devil horns for the gawker, a double-check on traffic, and a small shift in her weight. She is back in her lane and still accelerating. She briefly wonders how long this run has been. She has never bombed a longer hill. Over two minutes in, and less than halfway down. She lowers her stance, hoping to lose a little wind resistance. Her thighs are burning now, but she is flying. Thirty five at least. She sees the red car slowing down. No, she is accelerating. The wind must have been killing her speed. She lowers herself again. This is almost too low. Her legs are screaming, but she is gaining on the car. As she approaches, she sees an oncoming car. Black SUV. Blinking furiously, she does a quick calculation. No time to slow down, definitely no chance to stop, and just enough space between the lanes. For five seconds, she is a blur on the yellow line, surrounded by steel and shrieking wind. The wake of the SUV nearly tears her off her board. Wobbling slightly, she regains her footing. Then, only the board and the road are left. She resists the urge to reach out and touch the car as she finishes the pass.