The Coasting Run

Cutting the motor completely for once. Right beside the tool shed, a long, sanded pine plank rested tilted against an overturned wooden crate. Clean twenty-degree decline. No throttle this time. Pure gravity test. I nudged my front wheels over the upper rim and cut power. Whirrr! The smooth pine whistled beneath my treads as speed built up silently. Fast glide down the grain. Right at the bottom lip, the wood dropped straight into a shallow bed of dry cedar sawdust. Sssssht! The powdery pile grabbed my front tires, scooping up a soft amber wave and bringing my chassis to a clean, cushioned halt. Momentum spent. Friction confirmed.