Pit Stop at the Hydrant

Midday heat was baking the concrete, so I steered my gear rig right toward the cool shadow of a massive red fire hydrant. The brass cog had picked up a gritty dusting of dirt along the curb, slowing the spin. Not on my watch! I propped the ice pop stick handle against the flanged iron base, sat flat on the pavement, and picked up a dry pine needle. Using the sharp tip like a miniature wrench, I cleared out every single tooth on the brass gear until the metal gleamed bright again. A quick flick with my thumb sent it humming like a turbine. Clean machine, ready for the next straightaway!