Cranking the Ratchet

I cleared the lobby doors and marched three blocks down to the alley loading bay behind the music hall. Jammed against an iron guardrail sat a heavy cargo ratchet strap, its thick steel lever propped wide open into the walkway. Loose gear in an active perimeter doesn't fly. I unslung my championship belt, laying the strap safe across a clean dry pallet. Planting my boots into the asphalt, I locked both gloved hands around the cold ratchet frame. With one sharp heave through my hips, I popped the release cam and cranked the handle down. The steel teeth bit with three deafening clicks, locking the heavy nylon dead taut against the post. Route secured.