Across the road from our house lived John Goater. I was new in town, we were neighbours, and so we became friends.
Saturday mornings were soccer. The pitch was on the other side of the Pimple, a small grey building on the top of the hill near where we lived. John and I would push our bicycles up the back lane, and open the wooden gate onto the moor. Pushing on past the cricket ground, we would make our way up the hill towards the Pimple.
After a half hour or so we would reach the Pimple. It was the best feeling in the world, looking out over the town on one side and the moor on the other. The 360-degree view, the fresh wind blowing through my hair, and the breathlessness that comes from pushing a bicycle uphill for thirty minutes often made me feel light-headed. For a few brief moments I would experience my Saturday morning high: no school till Monday, no pushing my bicycle for a week at least, the prospect of an hour's soccer with the rest of the boys from the village school, then home for lunch. Heaven!
Before all that, though, there was the week's Big Event: the race downhill from the Pimple to the pitch. John won every week. I would pedal my heart out, my chubby little legs going as fast as they could, but it was no good: John's bicycle was much bigger than mine. He could almost free-wheel down and still beat me. It was a one-sided race, but I never gave up hope.
It was 500 metres from the Pimple to the pitch, downhill and very bumpy. There were many obstacles in the way, such as sheep, ponies, and gorse bushes. The really dangerous stuff though was the sheep shit. It was as slippery as black ice. If you went over some, you could end up anywhere.
It had to happen one day, and luckily for me, it happened to John. One wet and cold Saturday morning, on a day when the rain got through my clothes and into my bones, John was shouting for joy as he left me for dead yet again. Suddenly he flew sideways, his bicycle out of control. As John lay on the ground, wet and dirty, I cycled by with a big smile.
The hare had lost, and the tortoise had a sheep to thank for his victory.