Life is either an exciting adventure, or it is nothing at all.

Helen Keller

We lived in a modest house at the edge of the woods in Kirkland, Washington. The house was on a cul-de-sac where the pavement ended and the woods began, and there was a hill leading up to those woods from that street. The hill probably wasn't more than 30 feet long, but it was about 10 foot high from bottom to top so it was pretty steep. For a seven year old boy, it was a mountain!

I used to run up that hill to get to the woods. I could have gotten to them by the level path on the back of our lot, but that wouldn't have been much of a challenge, would it? One Christmas shortly after we moved into that house, I got a brand new bike. It was a stingray! And... we had a hill.

I can't tell you why I felt so compelled to ride down that hill on my brand new bike, but I did. The hill was not only steep, but it was deeply rutted from the frequent rains we received, and there were more than a few potholes and bumps besides, so it really made no sense to take my bike down that hill. And the going down was not the only problem because I had to somehow get my bike up that hill in the first place. Riding it up was out of the question, for the gravity would have pulled me backwards and caused a fall that would have likely broken my neck and I wasn't that stupid. No, really!

The solution was rather ingenious if I do say so myself. I would run beside the bike, all the time maintaining a firm grip on the handle bars, and then throw myself and my bike down when I ran out of speed. If I didn't slide back down to the bottom, it was a relatively easy drag and crawl to the top as long as I didn't lose my one-handed grip on the handle bars.

I have to admit that I nearly lost my nerve on the ride back down. Sitting there at the top of the hill, I knew exactly how Evel Knievel felt just before his motorcycle jump over the Snake River Canyon. But, swallowing my fear, I let 'er go and I did make it to the bottom. It probably took less than 3 seconds, but only a bull rider who has made the full eight second mark could understand the sense of accomplishment that I felt. 

From time to time, I would have to go back up that hill and do it again, just to see if I could. As I already said, I cannot tell you why I felt so drawn to ride down that hill. It wasn't to show off, because I sure didn't want anyone around to witness the event. If I fell off, my friends would have laughed, and if mom or dad had seen me, well...

Maybe the best way to explain that compulsion was that the hill just seemed to be something of an affront to me that could not be ignored. It was a challenge! Like a gauntlet thrown down that had to be picked up if I was ever going to be able to keep my self respect. Part of it was the thrill of the ride, and just as big a part was the mere anticipation of doing so. Part of it was the sense of accomplishment that always seems to come when we overcome our fears and do something that we are scared to death to even think about doing. And the biggest part, still, was the joy!

I suppose we all have our hills in life that must be conquered. And I don't necessarily mean that from a bigger perspective of having to handle the really serious things in life, either. I just mean that sometimes we need to step out of our comfort zones to "conquer the mountains" that stand in our way. Such adventures, I'm sure Ms. Keller would agree, give life the zest and flavor that God intended for us to enjoy as we go through this life for Him.