Through the Gravel Turn

The concrete steps dumped me straight onto the flagstone path. Ahead, the route narrowed between two terracotta plant pots, with loose pea gravel scattering across the stone. I locked in on a dried brown acorn rolling right into the gap. No brakes. I accelerated into the loose stones, rear wheels spinning against the pebbles with a sharp rattle. The tail kicked wide, spraying tiny grains against a glazed pot rim, but I counter-steered, snapped back in line, and nudged the acorn cleanly through the pinch point. It rolled onto the lawn; I held the path.