With all of the snow and ice we've had this winter, it seems as if some bikes will be frozen in place forever, for some future archaeologist (extraterretrial, perhaps?) to find like one of those ants they sometimes find encased in amber.
The ones that aren't fully or partially buried seem like public statues. Snow layers them in much the same way that it drapes the outstretched arms and wings, and the impassive faces, of those figures of metal and stone.
(I must admit that, during the past few weeks, my bikes haven't moved much more than the ones I've been describing. Or so it seems.)
Last night, I saw an example of a velocipedic monument to this season on Manhattan's West 57th Street, just east of Columbus Circle: