Lolly's Killer Curves 〈2024-2026〉

“They thought they knew how to drive,” Cruz says with a smile. “Lolly proves otherwise.” Not everyone survives the lesson. The local volunteer fire department has a nickname for the ravine: “The Taker.” Wrecks happen about once a month, though only a handful make the news. Most are single-vehicle accidents—a Mustang that entered a 25-mph turn at 60, a pickup truck that misjudged the decreasing radius of “The Corkscrew,” a tourist in an RV who tried to take the hairpin wide.

By J.D. Rook Photography by Elena Mendez lolly's killer curves

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. “They thought they knew how to drive,” Cruz

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. Most are single-vehicle accidents—a Mustang that entered a

“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.”