A German bomb had fallen plumb in the middle of the slope, making an elongated crater that had subsequently slumped towards the bottom in a fan of sand and gravel. A few straggly bushes still clung to the slope here and there. I was trying to estimate which was the fastest way down, when the boys of the Lions Avenue Lot arrived. Roy was towing Sprinter; Brian had his cart Larkspur; and Dismal was pulling his cart Droopy, with Tommy as passenger. ‘The girls not here yet?’ asked Roy looking around. ‘As you see,’ I replied. ‘What will our tactics be?’ asked Brian. ‘I was just thinking about that, I said. ’The best is to go as fast as possible, straight down.’ ‘It's too dangerous,’ said Dismal. ‘Shut up Dismal,’ said Brian. Winnie gave a sudden punt and shot ahead of me. ‘Catch me if you can,’ she shouted. ‘Stop Winnie,’ I yelled. ‘You don't know the path and don't know what state it's in— stop!’ ‘You just showed me how you could stop someone— so stop me.’ Winnie punted on and I punted hard behind her. ‘Winnie, slow down— the first bend is ahead— you can't take it at this speed.’ ‘Who says I can't,’ yelled Winnie. She slid into the curve and straightened up neatly out of it. On the straight, by dint of hard punting, I caught up with her and pulled the back of her cart against the steering bar of Lightning. We slid to a panting halt. ‘Winnie, look— I don't want to have to explain to your mother how you got injured or even killed. There's a steep drop over the edge of the zigzag. Cart racing can be dangerous— carts can turn over and throw you off.’ Winnie laughed. ‘There's something you don't know. My brother called this cart Blue Flash. He always used to say that Blue Flash could never turn over— it would slide first— and under control. When I was little, he often took me riding with him. I know how Blue Flash handles.’ Winnie’s “Blue Flash” Dismal’s “Droopy”