Crossing the Ridge

I rolled out from my siding beside the bookshelf and set a straight course toward the open kitchen. Right in front of me, the raised wooden transition strip looked like a steep mountain ridge separating the floorboards from the bright tile. I backed up two full wheel-turns to give myself a clear run, then accelerated forward with all my momentum. My front wheels hit the beveled edge with a crisp clatter, tilted upward, and found firm grip right on the crest. With one solid shove from my rear drivers, I crested the summit and rolled out onto the gleaming, smooth floor.