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Speeds in excess of ninety miles per hour
In which depths are plumbed
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In a shadowy corner of an underpass on 805 southbound, just north of San Diego, California, a portal is located.  The drone operators hadn't spotted it on the first flythrough, but an extremely ballsy DRT operative on a bicycle with a hastily-fitted e-stop got a glance and nailed it.

It's not in a great location.  It's extremely poorly lit, and nobody's quite sure what the range to get carnapped is, and the precogs are deployed elsewhere.  So the DRT operatives unload their onto nonmotorized pallet jacks and wheel everything by hand a quarter mile to the underpass.

The portal is a fairly large one - four point two meters in diameter.  They cordon off the underpass, but don't bother trying to make it civvy-proof.  Odds are decent that a car is going to come through and knock 'em down anyway.

Which is how Xavier Thornton winds up with his really nice Raleigh road bike, a lever that will pull the quick-release on his front tire, some unusually sturdy clothing for a bike ride, and a selfie stick.

(He's extracted a promise that if his bike gets destroyed, the DRT will pick him up the Specialized hybrid he's been drooling after for the last few months.  His wife has threatened to beat him with a socket wrench if he buys another goddamn bike, but she can't complain about running out of space if he's down one bike and up a new bike, right?)

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He downshifts as he gets closer, dropping from fourth to third, then to second.  He checks one final time.

"Still clear?"

"Still clear."

"Copy."

He pulls in almost on top of the portal, kicks the kickstand down, and performs the Ritual of the Selfie Stick.  Camera on, confirm it's recording.  Other sensors check out as well?  Good.  Okay.  Poke it through.

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The portal comes out in an oddly-lit garage.  Klieg lights point at a lift for a vehicle, tools are scattered around the floor.  It seems that this garage opens out into a raceway.  If the refresh rate and Xavier's eyes are fast enough, they'll catch cars nyooming around the track.

"Nothing exotic coming up.  Looks like some kind of, uh, PIT stop garage thing.  Fast cars going around the track.  No surprise."

"No editorializing."

"Just the facts, ma'am.  It's a fact I'm not surprised."

"Wise guy.  Safe to recon?"

"No way.  If one of these cars pulls in and goes for me, I'll be road pizza."

"Got it.  Check the other side and get out."

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The other side of the garage looks like a mechanic had carefully arranged all of his tools, and then let his apprentice in to work unsupervised for a month.  Tools are strewn haphazardly across work benches.  There are a set of sawhorses and what could be a welding setup if you squint, use your imagination, and pretend that OSHA isn't real.

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Xavier doesn't get a new bike today.  He does lock his Raleigh to a nearby tree out of habit, then laughs at himself.  Who's going to steal a bike next to thirty-some DRT ops?

Then it's time to quit biking around.  Keep the cordon, prep the report, review the footage.  Call for an esper.