I dreamt that I was sliding down the steep streets of a medieval town on top of a hill covered with snow. There were many archways on the way, but the snow was abundant all along the path. I had only shoes on me, but I would often achieve prodigious speeds. It was a great joy to navigate sharp curves and tight corners. There were many other people sliding down the same path, but I did not know any of them. I kept returning to it time and again. I remember that I learned at some point that no more than two percent of the people sliding down the hill managed not to fall in the process. I was kind of happy that I was among them, for I do not remember falling a single time. When I woke up, I remembered the mountain bike race that took place in Motovun only two summers ago (“Motovun Downtown,” June 12, 2014). I did not take part in the race, but I marveled at the path. For some reason, the name of the hilltown did not appear in my dream, but the path was very like the one from the Motovun Downtown race. The snow only added to the fun.