Woods. A hill running away. Downward slipping. A trail. My wheels spin slowly at first then speed up as fear recedes. Zigs zags dips ducks a jump…landing perfect momentum maintained. Long sweeping left through a field of sheep-mown grass. Rocks nip at my tires but the morning is too glorious for falling today. Sharp drop through more trees, the ground more rock than dirt but rock worn smooth by a million feet, hooves, tires and treads. Deadly in the wet but fast and sure in the dry. The trees become birch. Across the stream the checkered flag waves. I’ve lost.