“Wait up, Zeak”, yelled Chris, but Zeak was too far ahead to hear him. They were riding their tricycles along a slippery track. Chris was taking it slow, but Zeak was speeding, trying to get home first. He didn’t see the log lying across the track and couldn’t stop in time. He flew over the top of his handlebars, sliding along the ground and breaking his arm, his bike wrecked. Many years later, Chris and Zeak walked together along the same track, when they stopped to look at Zeak’s old bike, still stuck in the tree which had grown around it.