![]() ![]() ![]() But I'm moving so fast that I hit the side of a train car and take a nauseating tumble through the brush, watching helplessly as my arms and legs flail through the air. I hit the gas and charge ahead, trying my best to land on the moving vehicle. Then I hear it: the telltale whistle of a train. I'm sitting on a dusty hill, miles outside of the busy core of Los Santos, and I'm waiting. The bright orange San Andreas sun is blinding, but the tinted mask on my motocross helmet helps dull the effect.
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