I had a small hiatus from riding my bike in the past week, while my dad and his wife were in town for a visit. This morning, with the warmth of the sun shining on my back, I set off down the sidewalk to the bike racks to unlock my beautiful emerald green Trek and take a spin to work.
And alas, my bike was gone.
My poor bike! Purchased in 1994 for several hundred dollars from a store in Fair Oaks, Calif.; carted off to the Bay Area, New York City, Washington, D.C., Zurich, and ultimately Stockholm; maintained lovingly (and not so lovingly) across the years, with new brake pads, seat, etc., when necessary — now to be ridden by some complete stranger who STOLE MY BIKE.
The stream of invective that poured out of my mouth as soon as the shock passed lasted for the rest of my ride to work on my sad, cheap, black beater bike — the one that I myself semi-stole from the street the other day (it was sitting unlocked on a corner, with a bent wheel and chain in disarray), and repaired, painted and upgraded! I would have been even more miserable without that Chinese-made crappy single-speed to get me to work this morning.
But dammit, I miss my bike! Oh why did I use the CHEAP lock to lock up the bike that I LOVE????? Thank goodness I semi-wished it goodbye the other week, before I left it locked up in the sea of bikes at the end of our apartment building. I had a sneaking suspicion that something like this would happen, that I might lose my lovely bicycle now that we had moved into a more central part of town with more foot traffic. That almost helps with my feelings of loss! And I will never see it again…
Unless the police report I just filed has some results. The stickers from the registration in Zurich might still be on my beautiful bike’s deep green sparkly frame. We shall see…