The Hill Essay, Research Paper
& # 8220 ; The Hill & # 8221 ;
To a ten-year-old, it was the lone ground to populate. The lone ground to acquire up in the forenoon. The lone ground to come consecutive place after acquiring off the coach.
I received this present on the forenoon of my 10th birthday. I awoke to the sound of my household vocalizing in my room. I can hear them now, & # 8220 ; & # 8230 ; happy birthday to Betsy & # 8230 ; happy birthday to you. & # 8221 ; I threw a pillow at them and told them to acquire out. When I eventually crawled out of bed, to my surprise, a pink twine was tied to my door. I had to follow this twine throughout the house. It went downstairs. Back upstairs. Downstairs once more. Through the kitchen, into the life room and the household room, so down to the cellar. Still following the twine, I went around the corner and there was my new best friend, the plaything that I would take everyplace for the following three summers.
The Murry All Terrain Explorer 10 Speed was its name. Traveling to new undiscovered topographic points was its game. This motorcycle was the ultimate motorcycle, the motorcycle of all motorcycles. It had the ace deluxe H2O bottle bearer. The excess & # 8220 ; cushy & # 8221 ; place that made you ne’er want to sit anyplace else, and the & # 8220 ; easy & # 8221 ; alteration velocity controls were the best. This motorcycle was mine, and I loved it. It was glistening, and it had that & # 8220 ; new motorcycle & # 8221 ; odor to it. The handlebars and the place were electrifying hot pink. You had to have on dark glassess to look at them! To a ten-year-old, this was the most beautiful piece of metal in the universe.
Its sleek design merely seemed to shout, & # 8220 ; velocity! & # 8221 ; When I wa
s on this motorcycle, I was in my ain universe. It took me to topographic points that I ne’er thought were in my vicinity. We went down every street and around every bend. I saw new houses and new trees. The pedals were glistening black gum elastic that invited my pess to skip on for a drive. It was these pedals that took me to “The Hill.” “The Hill” was what Lindsay and I believed, back so, to be the world’s biggest hill. When traveling down this hill on our motorcycles, we could wing. I could experience the air current in my face and the odor the fresh air in my olfactory organ. When I was winging down the hill the handlebars were the pilotage tools for my plane. With these handle bars I ever had the perfect clasp on my motorcycle. My hands fit into the channels cleanly and I could steer around any crook or curve in any route.
As I cruised through the vicinity up steep hills and around crisp curves my motorcycle and I became one. Familiar landscape was a mere fuzz of swirling, streaming colour. Trees flowed into houses as I sped by and the sky melted into the land on the skyline.
In those yearss, my glistening pink motorcycle was my faithful friend, my changeless comrade. Together we discovered a universe I had ne’er experienced before. The freedom and the admiration were alone. We all have to turn up sometime and when we do, we have to go forth behind childhood memories and some of our favourite objects which helped us to do the memories. My motorcycle is now gone. However, the hill is non. Every one time in a piece I drive my auto to this hill and cruise down, it retrieving the times that Lindsay and I spent here.
