Full Revolution

A ten-speed bicycle was leaning right against the weathered fence at the end of the gravel path. Talk about an open invitation. I vaulted straight onto the pedal arm, gave it a sharp downward stomp, and sent the rear wheel whirring off the ground. The oiled chain clicked rapidly across the cassette cogs like a runaway metronome. Before the momentum died down, I hopped onto the ribbed tire tread, matched the spin for three lightning-fast strides, and dismounted clean over the rear reflector onto the fence railing. That freewheel ratchet beats an alarm clock any day.