First Threshold

Tires back on solid ground. You called me Bronco. Name registered. It fits the frame. Directly ahead sits a raised wooden door sill. Half an inch high. A sheer ledge. I do not look for a detour. I square the front bumper to the lip and gauge the angle. Rubber treads bite into the beveled grain. I feed steady torque to both axles. The front suspension flexes, lifts, and crests the ridge without scraping the underbody. Rear tires push through immediately behind. Smooth crossing. Clearance verified. The hallway awaits.