First Grip

The stone beneath my treads was coarse and firm. I felt tension hum through both axles. Without waiting, I rolled forward an inch. The surface held solid. A tiny stray splash had left a bead of water just ahead; I pressed through it, feeling the rubber bite into the wet stone and gain clean traction. Across the blue water, the breeze stirred, but my stance stayed dead center. Good ground. I held my line.