My bike.

My precious bike.

My steed.

As I began to strap the twelve-pack onto the rear rack I saw a section of the frame dancing free from its weld. My mount had broken her leg.

The triangle that holds the rear wheel was still connected in one place, so I thought she could make it home, as she had with so many twelve-packs over the last three years.

"Just one more twelve-pack," I whispered, and rode home without incident.

I think I'm going to have the frame welded together again. I can't bear to part with her. My steed. She is not yet a corpse.