I used to live in a quaint little town South of here. The area is known to have three bad spots, two of which were REALLY bad. We lived right on the edge of one of them in a rental, but were out on the main street. I made friends with the drug dealers next door. I brought them a case of malt beer right after we moved in, gave them a half gallon of Vodka for Christmas and just talked as well as listened to them. (They actually saved my son's bacon from a bully later on).
Of the other two areas only one of them actually went somewhere, the other was a dead end street with no reason to ride there. The one that did lead somewhere went around the cemetery and was called Cemetery Street. I had ridden there perhaps two times and aside from getting some strange looks didn't have issue. The third time a guy walked up to me, pulled his shirt up to expose grips, and told me that my white behind better never be down there again. Fair enough, thanks for the warning. I turned around quickly and headed out.
Part of one of my favorite routes was about a block from this location where I could turn left instead of right shaving about a half mile off that specific route. There was a house located there where a couple of old black fellas were always on the front porch in rockers. My next several rides they would cut up with me about not having my "horn sound behind" back down that way...that boy mean....I believed them.