Curves !!link!!: Lolly's Killer

By J.D. Rook Photography by Elena Mendez

For now, the curves remain. They are killers, yes—but they are also teachers. They remind you that some things aren’t meant to be easy. That speed without respect is just stupidity. And that a road, like a person, earns a reputation one corner at a time. lolly's killer curves

There’s a stretch of asphalt in the eastern Ozarks that mechanics don’t talk about, but their customers do. It’s not on any official tourism map, and the state highway department refuses to acknowledge the nickname. But if you ride a motorcycle, drive a stick-shift coupe, or pilot a lumbering 18-wheeler, you know exactly where it is. They remind you that some things aren’t meant to be easy

“You can’t brake late here,” she says, leaning against her track-prepped Mazda MX-5 at the roadside pull-off. “You can’t drift like you’re in a video game. Lolly’s rewards smooth hands and a cool head. Panic once, and you’ll be picking leaves out of your radiator.” There’s a stretch of asphalt in the eastern

If you ever find yourself at the foot of Lolly’s Killer Curves, pull over. Check your tires. Breathe. And remember what the old-timers say: Lolly never lifted. But you might want to. Old Route 29, Parson’s Hollow to Blue Summit. Best driven at dawn on weekdays. No trailers. No first-timers in the rain. And for God’s sake, don’t wave at the pink cross unless you’ve earned it.