Perfect, that is, if we could get to the stairs without getting scragged in the process. The hog-riders were out of the picture for the few precious seconds we needed. But the leader on his rice-rocket would see us the moment we broke cover, and stitch us crotch to crown. I grabbed another glance, hoping he'd turned back or was taking another turning. No luck. Time was running out, I knew. We probably had only seconds before the hog-riders decided there was nothing of interest around the blazing car and came back to join their boss.