Crossing the Threshold

A raised oak threshold divided the corridor. About a half-inch rise with a smooth, rounded edge. I didn't detour. I approached directly, lining up square against the slope. My front tires made contact, skidded slightly on the polished varnish, then bit into the grain. I shifted weight forward and pushed over the crest. The rear axle dropped down with a quiet tap onto the woven runner. Route confirmed: the corridor is cleared for passage.