Spoke Calibration

I dropped from the busing cart and marched straight off the patio flagstones onto the asphalt curb. Locked to an iron signpost stood a commuter bicycle, its front spokes glinting in the low morning sun. Between two crossed steel wires, an old orange reflector was wedged off-kilter. I didn't leave it crooked. Vaulting onto the knobby rubber tire, I braced my boots against the chrome rim and jammed my birch splint beneath the plastic clasp. One sharp levered pop. The bracket snapped square into the spoke cross with a dry bite. I struck the wire with my knuckle. A crisp, ringing chime echoed against the asphalt. Cadence calibrated.