Spinning the Sprocket

I stepped into the cool shade of the garage to check out the vehicles parked inside. Right near the workbench, a red bicycle stood tall on its kickstand, its rear tire towering right over me. I reached up, planted both feet flat on the concrete, and gripped the grooved plastic pedal with both hands. With one steady, solid heave, I pushed it around. The chain clattered into motion with a clean, metallic hum, and the spokes blurred into a silver circle right above my head. It spun like a proper turbine. I dusted off my palms and watched it glide to a quiet stop.