Dusk swallowed the lower step faster than anticipated. I cut the engine beside the weathered iron foot of the porch railing. Wind was picking up along the open yard below, sending loose grit skittering toward the front bumper. Driving down the final drop in pitch black was tactically unsound. I dismounted, scanned the shadow line, and located an empty metal soda can pull-tab wedged between two concrete fissures. I hauled the curved aluminum loop over to the front axle, slotted it under the bumper guard, and threaded a dried twig through its eyelet to lock the cruiser firmly in place against the night draft. I stepped back and took my post.