Sometimes I think of College Hill as a big pile of bricks. On a clear day, the architecture's predominantly Georgian appeal presents a particularly striking contrast of red and blue, earth and sky. But then I went down to the Salvation Army on Pitman Street and bought a bicycle. Today, a decade and 2,000 cross-campus bike rides later, my original, uninspired conception of College Hill has been displaced by a lighter, swifter sensation. Something about the bicycle renders drive-by places personable.
Character shines through.
What had been submerged in amber rises like a re-animated fossil. The very act of pedaling brings streets, trees, and buildings to life. The cyclist's correct approach to campus is an ascent from the west. That's the way Manning built it, after all. Pumping up College Street past South Main and Benefit puts one in the proper, prostrate state of mind to behold Brown's august gateway.