Without another look he rode past them and on out of the camp.

When she rode past me that day her face was white and proud.

We were going downhill and I just rode past them.

He saw them to the door but when they rode past a minute later, it was already shut.

They had ridden past the end of the world; somehow that changed everything.

In December 1996,1 was riding with a friend past our neighborhood gas station.

It was obviously a strain, and as we rode past I saw why.

A few years back, I was riding bikes with my girls past our elementary school.

We could ride right past the man who knows the story and never even think to ask him.

As he rode his bicycle past the lot each day, drug dealers would often call out to him.