Oscar and the Wobbly Wheels

Oscar wanted to ride his red bike all the way to the gate by himself.

Right now he could not even get to the shed. Every time he pushed the pedals, the bike wobbled left, then right, then flop. Oscar sat in the grass.

"Wobble, wobble, flop," he said.

A small brown hen was pecking near the shed. She lived there, and she was busy looking for her breakfast. She did not look up.

Oscar tried again. He pedalled hard and fast. Wobble, wobble, flop.

He tried going slowly. Wobble, wobble, flop.

"I'm no good at this," said Oscar.

The hen walked across the path in front of him, tick-tick, tick-tick. She walked in a very straight line, with her eyes on a crumb by the gate.

Oscar watched her. She was not looking at her feet. She was looking at the crumb.

"Oh," said Oscar.

He had been staring at his front wheel the whole time. It was wobbling, so he was wobbling too.

Oscar climbed back on. This time he looked at the gate. It was far away and very still, like a friend waiting.

He pushed the pedals. The bike shivered once. Then it stopped wobbling and ran along the path, crunch, crunch, over the little stones.

The hen squawked and hopped into the hedge. A feather floated up and landed on his handlebars.

"Sorry, hen!" Oscar called, and he laughed, because he did not stop.

The gate came closer and closer. The wind pushed his hair back. The pedals went round and round beneath his trainers, and the gate kept getting bigger.

Oscar stopped with one foot on the ground, right beside the gate post. His heart was thumping. The wheels were humming softly as they slowed.

Behind him, in the hedge, the hen was clucking. She had found her crumb after all.