“To the top of Park Lane,” Dad cautions. My neighbor pals and I cycle furiously up the hill. “Stop in front of the Eckbergs,” Dad yells. He’s huffing, puffing, too fat. We stop, wheezing at the top. Turn our bikes to face the hill, traffic whizzes behind us on Penfield Road. The Eckbergs aren’t home; probably at church. We wait for Dad to catch up. “Watch yourself on the way down,” Dad cautions. “Danny, it’s your first time.” “I know, Dad.” I start first, push, roll, pedaling. Rush past the Fabers, zoom past the Whitmores. My raccoon streamers fly horizontally from my handlebars, my Tony the Tiger seat groans. I hear Brad at my heels, so I pedal, pedal, pedal. We zoom closer to our
house at 76. Click here to finish Rob’s story.