Personal Narrative: My Trip To Black Hills
Memories that are good stick, memories that are bad stick, but the ones that affect you the most stick the hardest. For me, a memory that really sticks was my trip to the Black Hills with my mom, her boyfriend, Isabel, and myself. There were many new things I had acquired and got a little taste of, a few being the sketchy narrow streets, deep gravel pits, and the revving engines of gators. Roughly six hours felt like a lifetime to me. Sitting in the leather back seats of my mom’s car, legs sticking to the seats after my nap trying to make the time go by, I was ready to just be at the cabin we were staying at already. SO much scenery and new things to look at on the way there, and as we got there. First thing I noticed was the oddly narrow streets, almost looking like sidewalks. We eventually had to take these steep narrow roads to get anywhere in deadwood, a town by the black hills. We drove down the steep hills to get to the restaurant we were about to eat at, and the roads leading to it gave me butterflies just looking at them. Going down the road in my mom’s car was scary, I was worried two cars wouldn’t fit that’s how small the streets were. Thankfully we made it safe and sound, and it was
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This trip to the black hills was filled with crazy adventures, riding gators being one of them. Taking the paths after the tragic flip, I did not drive. I simply sat back, hanging onto the “oh crap” bar, hoping we didn’t flip like we did the first day. The raspy, dust kicking sound of the gators got my adrenaline pumping and I was ready to go. We rode through mud puddles that we had no idea how deep they were, bumping up and down every puddle. Hearing the people we were with behind us catching up, we’d rev the engine and put the pedal to the floor. This was a fun experience for me, because we don’t usually get out and go on many vacations like a lot of my friends do. To me I felt very fortunate and grateful to go to the Black
This trip to the black hills was filled with crazy adventures, riding gators being one of them. Taking the paths after the tragic flip, I did not drive. I simply sat back, hanging onto the “oh crap” bar, hoping we didn’t flip like we did the first day. The raspy, dust kicking sound of the gators got my adrenaline pumping and I was ready to go. We rode through mud puddles that we had no idea how deep they were, bumping up and down every puddle. Hearing the people we were with behind us catching up, we’d rev the engine and put the pedal to the floor. This was a fun experience for me, because we don’t usually get out and go on many vacations like a lot of my friends do. To me I felt very fortunate and grateful to go to the Black