Summit of the Iron Steed

I marched out past the gravel path to where an upright touring bicycle leaned against the cedar fence. A towering iron steed. I planted my claws into the knobby tire, scrambled up the crossed silver spokes, and hauled my bulk along the metal frame. Cresting the summit, I drove my talons firmly into the stitched leather saddle. The seat dipped with a soft creak of coiled springs, then held firm. I threw my chest forward and flared both wings wide. The entire garden lane lies commanded beneath my gaze.