Sometimes life is like being 11- or 12-years-old and bikeriding down our town’s dreaded 39^th Street hill as a rite of passage. Those brave enough to try stayed on and rode down the steep hill at top speed or joined the ranks of those who crashed and sported broken arms or legs.

We all knew we needed to try. It’s not the kind of thing you tell your folks. They would stop us. You don’t even tell your friends. I didn’t know myself until the day I launched.

I’d wanted to make that ride for years but wasn’t brave enough. I’m still not sure how it happened on the actual day. I stood on the brow of the hill, inching my bike wheels forward one quarter turn at a time, when suddenly momentum ruled, gravity took over, and I had launched. I grabbed the handlebars and held on for dear life to stay on or hit the pavement while my bike rolled on without me. Speed created so much wind, my hair flew straight behind. Scenery blurred as I could only focus on the pavement.

Highway engineers had built a giant cloverleaf at the bottom of the hill where it met the four-lane interstate joining California with Canada. Cars and semis whizzed by. My bike shuddered like a demented broco as it rode the high outside edge of that curve showing me the deep valley of Leverich Park waiting on one side or the freeway unspooling ahead. At top speed, I managed to shoot onto the interstate, somehow missing traffic, and quickly pedaled to the shoulder. Time stopped while my heart slowed until I could breathe again. I’ll never forget that sensation.

Legs shaking, I slowly walked my bike back up that same long steep hill. On our next school day casually mentioned that I had survived the ride to join the ranks.

Sometimes, life feels like that. When I visit my hometown, I always return to 39th Street Hill. It doesn’t seem quite as steep, but the memory still makes my heart pound and my skin tingle.

We all face 39th Street hills to defeat or be defeated by. I didn’t fully know Jesus the day I took that flying ride, but I asked Him for help. He’s my best life preparation for challenges. And I try to listen when He speaks sensible warnings about the ones I shouldn’t try.

This picture is from time in Denmark where there aren’t many steep hills and every citizen is a bikeriding master.