The Rider mounted The Steed and asked of it one ride this Sunday morning. He knew he had asked much of The Steed. They had passed many a mile together, the bond between them strong as steel. He had taken much care of The Steed, but he knew The Steed was hurting. The Steed could not take much more. “Just a little farther, my friend, what you seek is in transit already, we simply await for The Shop to bring it in.”

The Steed did not reply. It was not its position to question the will of The Rider. Its job was to take The Rider where his will dictated. Today, it was over the hills of Seattle to The Englishman, then onwards to Magnuson Park, to meet others like The Rider, and to pay homage to the men that built this city and those that protected it from the devastation that razed the city on the fine summer day of June 6, 1889.

The Steed powered up the hill at the will of The Rider, giving everything that was asked of it. At the peak of the hill, The Englishman greeted The Rider, for he was expecting a package from The Rider. One power supply for the laptop exchanged hands, as did some small talk, before The Rider took off again. The Rider climbed a great hill, resting only at the top, before descending at great speed to meet the others like him. The Steed, stoic as ever, said nothing, other than a slight groan on the steepest incline of the hill. Something was not right, but The Steed was not to question the will of The Rider.

The men dressed like The Rider gathered round, uttered words of agreeance, and took off as a group, heading south towards the sun. They climbed hills and descended in to valleys, crossing bumpy roads on their steeds. The Steed said nothing, but The Rider could tell something was not quite right, for when he asked The Steed to slow, The Steed did so with a shudder that was not normal. Still, the group passed through the valley of Madison, passing the baker with his bread goods and fine coffee beverages as the citizens of Madison valley shuffled towards the baker, seeking the black, bitter beverage that would open their eyes and help them see the light.

BANG. An explosion like a gunshot could be heard, and The Rider felt The Steed collapse. The Steed could not hold on much longer. It could stay silent no more under the strain The Rider subjected it to. The Steed’s wheels would turn no more, for the metal that held the tire to the rim had torn off from the rim. The men dressed like the rider gathered around as The Steed lay motionless on the ground. They offered consolation but The Rider could not be consoled. He rested his hands on the fallen steed, bowed his head in thanks for the ultimate sacrifice made by his friend, picked him up in his two hands, and carried The Steed to safety.

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/147530953
http://app.strava.com/rides/3923829