The Steed!

At long last, the Steed is home. I mean, the bike itself has a new home now, but my brother in law Jeff made a frame (welded steel!) of the amazing portrait by Elizabeth Zechel, and my sister hand-carried it from California after many months of nagging (thanks Eliza!).



Ode to the Steed

The Steed is a solid friend -- not a nimble bike, but an indestructible heavy protector. Safe for potholes. We spent 2000-2006 together, the longest I've ever owned a bike, let alone a bike in NYC. It became mine for $40 at someone's stoop sale -- she threw in a pair of shoes with the deal. When the steed and I lived in Greenpoint, the bridges were my main commute, and the steed got me home safely after many a late night downtown. I used to hang my groceries from the Busy Bee off the handlebars and I'd carry all however many pounds up three flights of stairs to my fourth floor walkup. When I trained for my first marathon, the Steed and I would ride to Central Park so I could do my long runs. When I worked at Human Rights Watch, the Steed was always parked out front of the Empire State Building. When I was in grad school, it was always chained to other bikes at John Jay. When I started at JackRabbit, it was always locked to the bus stop post out front of the Brooklyn store. We rode together downtown on 9/11 to try to be useful. When I met Steve (my husband), the Steed was parked downstairs. It survived many a harsh winter, and hot summer, and never complained about the elements. Almost every part on it that could be stolen was (wheels, seatpost, chain, even the pedals), hence the thief-deterring paint job, worn to shiny on the top tube by the kryptonite chain.

Eventually, the seatpost ended up fusing to the frame -- bad for me, because it was just a little bit the wrong height. The steed helped me train for my first triathlon -- we did our laps of Prospect Park, and no matter how heavy, it is a fast bike, and we not only kept up with the training group, we were always at the front of the pack. When I got my road bike, I felt a little bit like the girl who dumped the guy next door for the quarterback when prom-time came around. And the Steed did not take well sharing me with my speedy Felt. It lashed out and hurt me, first by gauging a hole in my leg where the bolt for the seatpost had been while I was training for the tri, then by tightening up my hip flexors on my commute from Sunset Park, the primary suspect in turning my hamstring tendons to hamburger meat. That was when I decided the Steed had to find a new home, and it was heartbreaking. I contemplated donating it to be a ghost bike (the white bikes that are monuments to victims of NYC bike fatalities), but then Terry needed a commuter bike, and that seemed like a better solution. Now the steed gets to ride the speed bumps on the Williamsburg Bridge once again. But with this portrait, it will be with me forever.

The steed now hangs on the living room wall, above the computer where I'm tying right now. Here it is in situ: