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Long Island, New York 11971
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NEW REVIEWS: Great story, Jean. As usual your subtle twist at the end was worth
the read from the beginning.  I'm glad you decided to bless us with more of your very
fine literary skills.
As always a sharp and crisp piece of writing *****__Barbara A. Sabo.

Another excellent example of story building to a most enjoyable climax. Superb
character development too. Does George sound familiar to anyone? It is always a
pleasure to read your
stories and your reviews too ****__Captain Apple Jack.

I liked this story a lot. George did seem familiar to me. Last week I lost my car keys
and while searching for them, I found my silver whistle that I wear whenever I go
jogging. I felt really good about that. Thanks for another very good read, Jean
****__Su Chang-Wu.
“THE SILVER BIKE”
By Jean Ann Morgan
Monday, September 29, 2016
Rated
-G- by the author
Now where was that screwdriver?
George's silver bike was sitting in the living room. It had no kickstand or front or rear fenders, so
he had wedged the front tire in between two bookshelves to help it stand upright. It was a beauty
with a hot, red logo on both sides of the silver mainframe. Whenever he rode it, he always received
appreciative stares from his neighbors and people he happened to pass by.

Unfortunately, today both tires were flat and dust covered the bike. Fortunately, no household
spiders had set up a web. As much as George liked his cool bike, he hated spiders. When was the
last time I rode this thing, he wondered as he looked at it.

It was Sunday afternoon. Sunset was still almost two hours away. The temperature had been 90%
at noon, but had dropped to about 76 now. George had spent Saturday and most of the morning
cleaning up his apartment. The termite inspector was coming on Monday and he wanted the
inspector to be able to “inspect” without tripping over boxes, books, fishing rods, and golf clubs.

George was going to reward himself with a late afternoon bicycle ride. He enjoyed riding or walking
through his neighborhood with its many beautiful houses, yards, and trees. But first, he had to
inflate both bike tires. He got out a hand air pump he had bought at a thrift shop for only $2. To his
regret the pump nozzle adapter didn’t fit onto the bike’s valve stem. Nothing is ever simple, he
thought. Then, "you get what you pay for," flashed across his mind.

More than a little miffed, he began to look for his new pump, the one that had cost $10. It had all
the bells and whistles: high volume air flow on both up and down strokes, quick lock valve adapter
and four nozzle adapters, air gauge, and footplate for easy pumping. It was a beauty. Of course,
George couldn’t find it. "I’ve got everything, but it seems like I can never find anything," George
muttered.

As usual, George did find one thing while he was looking for another. He found an old used pump
that he had been looking for a month ago. It was a big, heavy, steel pump that had an air gauge
and a small leak somewhere. George tried to connect the pump to the rear tire and to his pleasure
it fit. So he started pumping. The “small” leak seemed to have gotten bigger, George thought. He
stopped counting after the first 90 pumps. When the dial finally hit 65 psi, he was huffing and
puffing.

He went to the refrigerator and got a diet soda. After finishing it, he returned to his silver bike and
pumped up the front tire. Sweat dripped from his forehead; his shirt was stained; and the front of
his pants was wet. That was a good workout, he thought as he finished off a second soda. He
screwed the valve stem caps back on. He stood back so as to admire his “new” tires proudly.

The silver bike was now ready to ride. George, however, felt a little tired. Plus, he was hungry. In
opened the refrigerator door. The chilled air felt good.

                                                 ©
2016 Jean Ann Morgan [All Rights Reserved]