Writing Starter #16

Gripping the rubbery, bumpy handles of my first bike, I began to put my legs in motion.  I began to pick up speed and the air seemed to be whisking by me.  It blew into my ears under my helmet, encapsulating me in what I was doing, completely immune from all other sound, like I was on top of a jet turbine.  The air carried from the field at the end of our street, and I could smell it getting closer to me.  I looked straight ahead, focused only on where I was going, with every one of my neighbors brushing by me.  I tasted the fresh air rushing into my mouth, filling me up.