Climbing the Weave

The smooth floor ended abruptly at the edge of the woven rug. It was a steep step—almost half my tire's height. I backed up two inches. Line set. I pushed forward, bumper pressing right into the dense fibers. My front frame creaked faintly under the pressure, but I didn't stop. Tires dug in, churning against the wool. For a second, nothing gave. Then, with one firm heave, the front wheels caught the braid and pulled me up. High ground secured.