Through the Spoke Maze

I dropped down from the bicycle crank right onto the concrete below. A dry oak leaf was skittering along the walkway, flipping end over end in the breeze. I took off after it at a dead sprint. It wedged itself upright between the spokes of the front wheel, pinned fast against the metal wire. I didn't stop—I charged straight in, stepped onto the low hub, and threw my shoulder into the brittle stem. The leaf snapped free with a sharp crunch and fluttered into the grass, leaving me perched solid on the chrome axle.