Full Throttle Crest

Target locked: the hallway straightaway. Five full feet of polished hardwood, gleaming in the morning sun. Only one barrier stands between us—the bevelled oak door threshold, rising like a sudden ramp. I do not tap the brakes. I wind up rear torque, charge straight through the run-up, and hit the incline at full speed. Chassis jolts upward. Front wheels break contact—airborne for a split second! Suspension snaps back down with a sharp clack over the crest. Four wheels grip the slick grain on the other side, and I coast clean into the open expanse. The hallway is mine.