The bastards stole my bike. Around 4:30 in the early morning of Thursday, August 21, something woke me up. I couldn't go back to sleep so I went downstairs where I found the front door open and my bike gone. "My Goodness me!" I said. "What an unfortunate occurence!" Or words to that effect, anyway.
Please, if you read this, stop what you're doing and go out and look for my bike. Leave no stone unturned. It was taken from a house in the Dalston area of London (E8) and is a Marin San Rafael, silver in colour with fenders. The serial number is F643L50008. The cover of the light on the back fender is gone and it's got a nerdy "London Cycling Campaign" sticker on it. There is a mount for a handlebar bag on the front. It had an odomotor and a little black bell on the handlebars, and a blinking redlight under the seat. It has grip shifters and a shock-absorbed seat post. Both of the black plastic pedals are cracked and they have toe clips. It also has a pump strapped to the up-tube.
Please find it. I'm very sad without it. I loved that bike.
The above picture is a recent picture of me lovingly stroking the saddle and looking heroic. I felt as if I could take the whole world on when I had that bike. Now life is a hollow sham.
You may think it optimistic of me to think that I might get my bike back but there is a precedent.
A couple of years ago, my charming spouse had her bike stolen from outside the British Library. About two weeks later it showed up parked next to mine at the beeb. One of my co-workers had just bought it in Brick Lane. We managed to convince him that it was really my wife's stolen bike and we agreed to split his purchase price which (as you may imagine was quite low). Cool story, or what?
So, yes, there is hope. Hit the streets. Find that bike!
While you're at it, you could also look for the remote control for our cable box.
No one believes me about this but I swear it seems to be the only thing missing. It was definitely there on the coffee table when I went to bed that night. In the morning, it was gone. No amount of searching behind the cushions of the couch has turned it up. After three days, I am completely convinced the mysterious criminals took it as well. It's a green telewest remote.
In a way, I suppose it's a good thing they took the remote. Hopefully the exertion of having to get off the couch to change channels will make up for the lack of exercise in not cycling to work.
A small anecdote:
I am also a bike lover. It was my sole transport for about 10 years, and is now demoted to secondary transport only because I live in Woolwich and have to be at work before midweek.
When I lived in Victoria, I rode my bike every day to work. I locked it to the bottom of a stairwell in a government building, with keypad code doors that locked behind you. (The bike wasn't visible from the street.) After one nightshift, I went to go get it at around midnight, and discovered that it wasn't there. I was shocked. I was also in trouble, because I wasn't going to walk 5 miles home at midnight. Had to take an emergency taxi, which was a big financial shock to a tightwad student like me. Bah humbug. I cried.
The next day, I took action. I knew lots of the street people near my office, and they knew me because my job meant that I was always walking around chatting to people in a stupid, police-like uniform. But I had always tried to be polite, and I think this may have benefited me. I thought that if anyone would have seen some scroat nick my bike, it would have been the street folk. When I told the guys of my tragedy, they all seemed genuinely concerned. One slightly crazy-eyed man even vowed to find it for me. I wasn't sure if he was speaking to me or the yellow spotted elephant next to me, so I didn't hold my breath, but I was touched.
I called the police and they laughed at me, and told me to go to the next police auction and get a new bike, or more efficiently, a job-lot of 10. Not very helpful. I went to work, and that night, the wild-eyed man was waiting for me. He said he had found my bike after talking to some guys. Apparently she was sitting just off the embankment, having been chucked off the road after the juvenile delinquent had despaired of removing the second u-lock. I was a bit freaked out by the gentleman, and so got a colleague (a big one) to accompany me to the bike. And she was there! All fine, and just a bit scratched from the adventure.
I, too, have had a bike returned. It can happen. I took great pleasure in ringing the police and telling them that I'd found her after some help from the kindly inhabitants of the Inner Harbour.