It’s happened more than once we know, and this latest race was supposed to end like the others. The rabbit this edition was old Peter Cottontail, and at his advanced age was still faster than the young turtle, Yacky, always mouthing off at the corner of the block. The Rabbitville News continued to say, “Experience and speed usually mean first place in many races.”

“I can beat that old rabbit two ways to Sunday and then some,” young Yacky was saying to the corner denizens after their supper hour. “He’s so slow these days he doesn’t get home until all hours of the night. Talk about doddering, he misses dinner half the time. Last I heard he’s still late for last Thursday’s supper.”

“Why not race him, Yacky, like the old days, but turn the tables on him again. Give him some good betting odds, or run backwards or go in the opposite direction. Make it interesting. He’ll sure bite for it. They all do.”

“Who’s ‘they?’” Yacky said.

“Oh, all them fast trackers. You know the kind, high speeders, rail riders, always leaving us turtles in the dust, like they got a mean streak in them.”

“Rabbits with a mean streak? Come on. Get real.”

“Well, how come they always want to race us turtles? Don’t you think that’s mean?”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Yacky said, “but instead of the usual stuff, I’ll run in the opposite direction on the one-way circle around the block and still beat the tail off him thinking he can rest any time he wants. Those rabbits never change.”

Old Peter Cottontail accepted the challenge and the conditions, inner laughter rocking through his frame as he walked off at the starting line. “I have a month of Sundays to do my thing,” he said to himself, following the arrows.

Halfway around the run he realized had not encountered Yacky.

Along with his aged body, his eyes had done tricks on him and he never noticed the direction signs had been altered, and he was far afield of the course.

On a one-way street there’s ups and downs, and ins and outs, and there’s still more than one way home.