When I turned eight years old, my family and I visited my mom's mom in Ogden, Utah. We visited her often. She was very nice to us and always gave us a kiss when she saw us. We brought our small purple bike with a banana seat. My siblings and I thought that we would take turns riding the bike around the block. When it was my turn to ride the bike, I thought I knew my way back to my grandma's house. She lived on Jefferson Avenue. I kept riding and ended up somewhere on Washington Boulevard, a couple of streets from there. I was lost and scared. I didn't know how long I had been riding my bike, and I didn't know when I would be found. I don't how how far away I was from my grandmas house. I felt so alone. I tried to be brave. I felt like crying, but I don't believe I did. Washington Boulevard is one of the busiest streets in Ogden, and there is a lot of traffic on it. I knew that I had to be careful because of all of the traffic. I asked a man if he knew where Ogden was, and he said, "No." I am sure at least an hour had passed before my mom called the police. Boy, I was glad to see them. They gave me a ride back to my grandma's house. I was glad that I was back where I belonged. You can compare this experience to anyone that gets lost and finds their way back home.