The best was riding to my grandmother's house, about 20 miles away. I had to cross the Platte River on a two-lane highway bridge with no shoulder. Probably did that ride three times a month, white-knuckled every time.
I almost bought it riding that bridge once. I used to go to the bluffs above the river and look out at the Fremont city lights at night. That's cool, but I had to cross that bridge at night, twice. The bridge is about 1/2 mile wide, and you can see traffic for maybe 3/4 of a mile to the south. I'm heading north, stop at the foot of the bridge to check for traffic, there's nothing coming, so I blaze across the bridge. I'm not even halfway across when I hear a semi coming behind me. To make it worse, there's traffic coming from the north, so this truck has nowhere to go. He comes up beside me, not even two feet away, and the wash alone about knocked me over - but then disaster. I hit a branch or log or something in the roadway. The front wheel twisted aside and I thought I was either going to spill under the trailer or go over the edge of the bridge into the river. Miracle of miracles, I righted the wheel, kept my balance, and didn't touch either the guard rail or the trailer. I have no idea how I did it, but I stayed on my bike.
Got off the bridge maybe five seconds later and collapsed along the edge of the road. My heart was going 90 miles an hour forever after that.
The most stupid part about that is that I went back up on the bluff several times after that. No way I'd do that stunt today, and no way would I do it again after nearly getting killed like that, but back then I was young and immortal. Weird stuff.