Will A Belly Rub Bring A Bike Back?

I don't mean to make levity of bike theft.

So why am I making this video this week's "Sunday Funny?"

Well, it has mainly to do with its possible "hero."

I am a cat person, but I have been known to give a belly rub or two to neighbor's dogs.  So I can understand why even a bike thief--one of the lowest forms of humanity, in my book--couldn't keep himself from doing the same for a big, fluffy Golden Retriever.

I laughed because I realized that the pooch, whether he/she realizes it or not, may assist the police if, indeed, they bother to investigate this crime.  Though the family pet may not have stopped the theft, he or she might've delayed the thief long enough for the cops, the bike's owner or someone else to get a good (or at least) better look at the crook.

I just hope the bike is reunited with its owner.  I am sure he or she treasures it, un, almost as much as that lovable canine.

Great Chain Robbery

 Just after Hurricane Katrina, I talked with Bill Laine, the now-retired owner of New Orleans-based Wallingford Bikes.  

Katrina devastated the city, prompting an unprecedented total evacuation. Some folks defied the order and took advantage of the desolation by looting homes, stores and warehouses.

Bill explained that his business was spared because, he thought, thieves probably were looking for bikes but found saddles (The biggest part of their trade was in Brooks), bags and other parts and accessories.

These days, thieves know better. COVID-19 pandemic-induced shortages have affected bike parts as well as complete bikes.  One result has been a spike in bike thefts as well as burglaries and robberies of bike shops. 

Some seemingly-professional thieves in Germany have moved up the food chain, if you will. As a truck driver took a break at a rest stop, a well-organized gang released sleeping gas into the vehicle’s cab and raided the trailer filled with Shimano parts destined for BFI, the Czech Republic’s largest bike producer.

One particularly disturbing aspect of this crime, as a BFI spokesperson explained, is that it seemed to be intricately pre-planned to the point that “in all likelihood, the truck had been followed from the time it was loaded.” Also alarming is that the thieves knew what they were looking for: They left nine boxes of low-end parts but took the more expensive components.

This story reminds me of something I reported when I was writing for local Queens and Brooklyn newspapers:  Car thieves were turning their attention away from luxury vehicles in affluent neighborhoods to good, solid everyday cars like the Toyota Camry in middle- and working-class neighborhoods.  Those cars were targeted because they proved more lucrative when sold to “chop shops” for parts.

Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes?

During the initial investigation, video surveillance was obtained depicting two males removing the bicycles and leaving the area.

That sentence could be part of a police report almost anywhere, about any two males (or females or non-binary people) in a depressingly familiar scenario.

But then there's the next sentence:

These actors were identified as Eric Campbell and Austin Craig, who are both employed as Police Officers with the Lower Township Police Department."

The report continues with the caveat that the charges are "merely accusations" and that "defendants are presumed innocent until proven guilty."  Still, it's hard not to notice that the accused thieves are constables in a town adjacent to the seaside resort of Cape May, New Jersey's southernmost area.

Now, assuming that Campbell and Craig are indeed the "bad actors," it begs the question of "Why?"  Do Lower Township cops have too much time on their hands?"  (Charming as it is, calling the place "sleepy" makes it seem like Times Square. I know, I've been there.)  Are they so poorly-paid that they can't afford bikes?  Or did they become "bad actors" for the reason some other police officers go rogue:  because they could, because they figured their badges and shields would protect them from charges?

A Thief Poses As A Manager

In my time, I've heard of people who impersonated doctors, lawyers and other learned professionals.  Hey, I even recall stories about someone else who posed as a Saudi prince and a guy who managed to pass himself off as a Rockefeller relative.

But a bike shop manager?

Folks who pretend to be doctors, lawyers, princes and Rockefellers managed to bilk people out of lots of money.  But the old joke about the bike industry is that if you can get into it, you can end up with a small fortune.  How?  Start off with a big one.

Also, I have to admit that as long as medical procedures or cases aren't botched, it can be pretty funny to watch an impostor hoist on his or her own petard.  The ersatz Saudi prince did himself in when, at dinner in a fancy restaurant with a would-be investor in one of his schemes, he ordered an appetizer of prosciutto.  The phony Rockefeller's scheme ended when one of his would-be investors wondered why he, if he was a Rockefeller, he spoke with a French accent.

They lived high while their schemes lasted.  But what bike shop manager ever got to date a Playboy model or live in Mickey Rourke's house? 

So why would someone pose as a bike shop manager?  To sell stolen bikes.  

That, according to Colorado State University police, is what 23-year-old Gordon Stone was doing when they arrested him.  He took photos of  bikes parked on the Fort Collins campus and posted them on the "Let's Go" app--with the name of John Lambert, who manages the Recycled Cycles shop near the campus.  

Someone would spot the photo of, say, a GT Transeo, and because Lambert's name and Recycled Bicycles were attached to it, assume it was legitimate.  When that person expressed interest in the bike, Stone would go to the campus, cut the lock and sell the bike for a fraction of what it would cost in the shop.



Lambert found out about the scheme only when a friend texted him to ask whether he was still selling a certain bike--the Transeo--online.  "I responded with, what?" he recalls.  

He says that Stone's actions have hurt the shop's, and his, reputation.  Now that Stone has been arrested, Lambert says he may pursue defamation charges against him.  After all, the reason what do a shop and its manager have besides their reputation?

Which Do You Lock First?

During my recent trip to Cambodia and Laos, I saw some heartbreaking poverty.  Still, there seemed to be little or no theft:  People left all sorts of items, including bicycles, out in the open, unsecured.  

And, as in other parts of the world, people leave their shoes at the door before entering their homes or, sometimes, even places of work or business.  That makes sense when so many streets, even in the middle of a city like Siem Reap, are wholly or partially dirt--which, of course, becomes mud when it rains--and dogs, cats and sometimes other animals roam freely on them.

Still, I had to wonder whether anyone had ever lost his or her shoes after leaving them by the door. (That didn't stop me, though, from following the local custom.)  Or a bicycle, for that matter.

This photo wasn't taken in any place I visited, as far as I know.  Having seen it, though, I have to wonder:  Is there a place where you're more likely to have your shoes than your bike stolen?

Honor Among Whom?

Some of us have difficulty with authority figures.  It might be the result of experiences with teachers, parents, clergy people or agents of the law.  We might be scolded for talking back or other forms of defiance, but those who scold us sometimes tell themselves, and each other, that one day we will "grow up" and "grow out of" our distrust of people with power over us.

But some of us learn, as we get older, to be even more skeptical of anyone we're supposed to obey or "respect".  I mean, how many--ahem--elected officials make you want to be a more compliant and amenable to those who have license--however they might have attained it--to make decisions that affect us?  And, given the scandals we've seen everywhere from the church to the entertainment industry, what would persuade anyone to give more credence to someone just because he or she has a title, money or a reputation, however any of those things were acquired?

Of course, the question of who merits our obedience and respect has been around for as long as humans have organized themselves.  Practically all philosophers, and more than a few poets, writers and artists have dealt with this issue, if obliquely.  And past as well as recent events give us reason to wonder just who, exactly, should be obeyed, much less revered.

One such event occurred 75 years ago this month in Flagstaff, Arizona.  The previous month, gasoline rationing had begun in the US.  Interestingly, the reason was not that petrol was in short supply.  Rather, rubber was, because the attack on Pearl Harbor a year earlier cut off most of the supply--and military needed whatever was available.  Thus, it was believed that the best way to reduce rubber usage was to reduce driving.  So was gas rationing begun.

Five different kinds of ration cards were issued. One, the C ration, was given to "essential war workers" (including police officers and letter carriers) and did not restrict the amount of gas they could use.  In Flagstaff, one recipient of the C ration was a fellow named Reverend George Gooderham.

That didn't sit well with another Flagstaff denizen--one Perry Francis.  But he wasn't just an ordinary citizen:  He was the sheriff.  

So how did Sheriff Francis express his resentment toward the Reverend?  Get ready for this:  He took the minister's bicycle.

A few hours later, the man of the cloth realized his wheels were gone and went to the local constabulary.  The folks in the sheriff's office led him on for a while before "finding" his bicycle and returning it to him.

It's often said that there is honor among thieves.  But what about cops who steal--from clergy members, no less?

When It's Gone In Tucson: You Have A 3 Percent Chance

I feel like somebody broke my leg.

Tucson, Arizona resident Leif Abrell voiced what many of us felt when a bicycle was stolen from us.  He lost his custom-made mountain bike in the wee hours of 28 September.  Like most bike-theft victims, he didn't see that his trusty steed was gone until it was too late:  A noise woke him and he noticed the door to his carport was open.  He checked to see whether anything valuable was missing, but in his groggy state, it didn't occur to him to look in the dining room of his midtown home.  When he did, he saw that his treasured bike was missing.  And he found a much-inferior bike deserted on the side of the street next to his house.

The rest of his story is also all-too-familiar to those of us who've had our wheels whisked away:  He reported his loss to the police.  While he "didn't have high hopes" for recovering his bike, he clung to "some hopes that something would happen," he recounted.  Alas, "nothing really happened," he said.

I learned of Abrell's ordeal from an article on Tucson.com.  According to that same article, 1200 bike thefts have been reported to police in "The Old Pueblo".  Only about three percent of those cases ended in arrests of suspected thieves and, worse, there's really how many stolen bikes are returned to their rightful owners.  As in most cities, the police don't track that.

Perhaps most disheartening of all, 63 percent of this year's bike theft cases were marked as "cleared", meaning they reached some sort of conclusion. Why is that disheartening?  Well, most of those cases were closed because there wasn't enough evidence to continue an investigation.  

Everything I've mentioned confirms something known to most of us who have had bikes stole:  Once it's gone, you'll probably never see it again.

Chris Hawkins, a Tucson police spokesman, echoed a common refrain in explaining why it's so difficult to track stolen bicycles:  In most places, "bicycles don't need to be registered like vehicles."  And, he says, bicycle owners rarely record serial numbers, which can be entered into databases for access by owners of second-hand shops and other establishments where stolen bikes might end up. 

The lack of such records, Hawkins says, is one reason why, even when bikes are retrieved by cops and find their way to the evidence room, they are seldom re-united with their owners.  

While Hawkins makes good points, the cynic in me (I am a New Yorker, after all) wonders whether some police departments would actively pursue bike a bike theft even if they had serial numbers and other records.  While some officers, like some people in other professions and jobs, simply don't care, others are simply overwhelmed by competing priorities and directives. 

Sometimes I think one has the best hope of getting a stolen bike back if a shop owner or mechanic recognizes it--or if its owner encounters it on the street.

Working In Mysterious Ways

If you have ever read Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, you might recall this:

Miss Watson she took me in the closet and prayed, but nothing come of it. She told me to pray every day, and whatever I asked for I would get it. But it warn't so. I tried it. Once I got a fish-line, but no hooks. It warn't any good to me without hooks. I tried for the hooks three or four times, but somehow I couldn't make it work. By and by, one day, I asked Miss Watson to try for me, but she said I was a fool. She never told me why, and I couldn't make it out no way.

Now, if Twain had been writing a century and a half later, Huck might have said something like this:

Not Too Famous For That

How many of you remember Paris Hilton?

I confess:  When she was in the spotlight, I didn't pay attention to her.  That is, until she was arrested for DUI.  It wasn't her arrest that made me take notice.  Rather, it was something she said not long afterward:  "I'm too pretty for prison."

Well, she did get prison time for violating her probation agreement.  That, as I recall, was about a decade ago--around the time Kim Kardashian-this generation's Paris Hilton-- was becoming, well, Kim Kardashian.

So, if Paris Hilton was indeed not "too pretty for prison", then is anyone too rich/famous/talented/beloved or fill-in-the-blank to have his or her bicycle stolen?

Well, it seems that at least one professional athlete's stature didn't keep him from losing his bike.  As a 20-year-old rookie who is currently sidelined with an injury, he's not one of the better-known players in his sport.  However, he is something of a celebrity in the city that is home to his team, for that team, and the sport they play, play large roles in that city's life and identity.

That city is Pittsburgh, and the team is the Steelers of American football.  

JuJu Smith-Schuster, a receiver, rode his Ghost bicycle to the team's practices.  After reporting it missing on Tuesday, he posted a message about it on social media.  "Why people got to be like that?" he wondered.  

He didn't have to wait long to get it back.  That night--Tuesday--a man called from a bar in nearby Mount Oliver after realizing, from a TV news item, that the bike he'd purchased earlier in the day was indeed Smith-Schuster's bike.  The man turned the bike over to police, who turned it over to Smith-Schuster.

Interestingly, Smith-Schuster doesn't have a driver's license, although he says he plans to get one "before the weather gets cold."  He still needs to work on parallel parking, according to one of his teammates.

That wouldn't be a problem, would it, if he rode his bike to work?  All he needs to remember is that he's not too big or talented, and he will not be too famous, to lose his bike.

Stop, Thief!

The other day I wrote about the rampant theft and vandalism that has temporarily shut down Baltimore's bike share program.

Other cities have experienced similar problems.

Here is a possible solution:

What would Natassja Kinski think of it?

They Didn't Catch A Bike Thief. But They Helped A Victim.

When bicycles were stolen from me, I imagined the ways in which I'd punish the thief.  Some of them came out of Dante's Inferno; others came from my own fertile (if I say so myself) imagination. 

Since I never got to face the human-shaped creatures who took my bikes, I don't know whether or not I would have meted out "frontier justice".  The one time I ever saw someone in the act of trying to steal a bike, I approached him from behind and tapped him on the shoulder.  In those days, I was younger, leaner, more muscular and angrier.  Of course, seeing that lowlife got me even more riled up.

Being a cyclist, I understand how it feels to lose a bike.  And, because I made my living on a bike for a year, I know that losing one's wheels could be disastrous.  So, you might say that I take it personally when someone steals someone's bike.

Although the sorts of crimes people commit really haven't changed much throughout history, there are still some that shock us.  Sometimes it has to do with the brutality or intensity of the act, or the brazenness or depravity of the criminal.  Other times, the vulnerability of the victim causes us to react in ways that we don't when we hear about other crimes.

Brennan Miller was one such victim.  The 12-year-old resident of Toledo, Ohio had his bike taken from him at knifepoint.  Now, when I hear of such things, I expect the perp to be one of his peers, or someone not much older.  Part of the reason for that is my own experience:  Years ago, I was mugged by two young men close to my age.  And, in most of the stories I heard about kids getting "jumped", the antagonists were young people not much different from the ones they attacked.

But Miller's attacker was an adult who fled.  Now, I think Dante should have had a particular spot deep in Hell for adults who victimize children in any way.  And, yes, that goes for whoever took Brennan's bike.

James Izbinski, manager of Reggie's Bike Shop in West Toledo, Ohio, presents Brendan Miller with a new bike.

I guess what keeps me from becoming completely cynical is that for all of the thugs, punks and pure-and-simple crooks in this world, there are many others who are benevolent or simply practice acts of kindness.  James Izbinski is one such person.  He manages a business where seemingly like-minded folks work:  Reggie's Bike Shop, in West Toledo.

They gave him a new BMX bike that, according to Izbinski, is "the BMW of bicycles".  As sad as he was to lose his old bike, Miller agreed that his new bike is a fine machine, even nicer than the one he lost.  He says he had no idea that he was getting the bike and, in thanking shop employees, he said he feels they're "part of my family now."

Along with the bike, Miller received a new, programmable bike lock and some advice from Izbinski:  "Try to be aware of what's going on around you so it won't happen again!"

Why Do Most Bike Thieves Get Away With It?

In today's Los Angeles Times, an editorial writer asked the question on the minds of many cyclists:

"Why are cities allowing bicycle theft to go virtually unpunished?"

The editorial points out something that most of us already know:  Bike theft simply isn't a high priority, if it's a priority at all, for most police departments.  There are a variety of reasons, valid or not, for this.  One is that police tend to concentrate on high-profile, high-value crimes.  So a stolen Maserati gets more attention than a missing Masi, possibly because insurance companies and lawyers are likely to have similar priorities.  

Another reason might be one a police officer expressed to me:  "Well, if you have a good lock and insurance policy, you can replace your bike."  This is true, up to a point:  Most policies--whether from lock makers or insurance companies, have deductibles.  But, even if a bike's owner is reimbursed for its full value, he or she may not be able to replace the stolen bike with another like it, especially if it is a custom or discontinued model. 

Even if a cyclist is reimbursed for the full price he or she paid for the bike, that amount of money probably won't buy as good a bike as the one that was taken, especially if the bike is more than a couple of years old.   And, of course, the deductibles and depreciation mean that the cyclist is likely to get considerably less than he or she paid for the bike.

From Priceconomics

What that means is that the newly-bikeless rider will buy a lower-quality bike than the one that was stolen--that is, if he or she buys another bike at all.  The LA Times editorial points out that according to one study, 7 percent of bike-theft victims in Montreal never replace their bikes.

The article makes a point that for many cyclists (such as yours truly), not having a bike is not merely an inconvenience.  An increasing number of people, mainly in cities, are depending on their bikes for everyday transportation.   Most of us aren't rich:  According to a Federal government survey cited in the editorial, the people most likely to cycle (or, for that matter, walk) to work, school or errands--or simply to get around--are those with household incomes of less than $10,000 a year.  That group of people is likely to include, in addition to low-wage workers, the unemployed, retirees and students.  

Also in that group  are many who make their livings on their bicycles.  For a year, I was one.  In nearly every city--and in some suburban and even rural areas--there is an army of folks who deliver everything from documents to dim sum on their wheels.  For them, losing their bikes is catastrophic.

And they, as often as not, are the least able to afford to buy another bike of any kind.  In much the same way that Kim Kardashian being robbed of 10 million dollars' worth of jewelry is not going to affect her lifestyle as much as the average person is affected by losing the watch he or she wears every day, the guy (or woman) who loses a Porsche can more easily afford to replace it than the delivery person who purchased a Peugeot U-08 from a tag sale.

That, I believe, might be the most important "take away" from that L.A. Times editorial.  It may be that law enforcement authorities still see bicyclists losing their bikes as kids losing their toys but someone whose luxury sports car is stolen as the victim of a "real" crime.  Unless that changes, bike theft will be a mostly-unsolved crime and bike thefts will continue to be under-reported.

Don't Worry About Me, Mate, I'm Taking Your Bike

Bristol is often cited as one of the UK's--and Europe's--most "green" and "liveable" cities. Given that a relatively large portion of the city's residents are young and environmentally consciousness, it's not surprising that many bicycles are ridden--and parked--on the streets.

The large number of bikes also means that Bristol has a problem that plagues other places like it.  You have probably guessed, by now, what it is. Yes, bike theft. As Louis Emanuel wrote in a Bristol 24/7 article:  "If you live in Bristol it's likely you have had your bike stolen or know someone who has."   At the time he wrote that article--in July 2015--police were conducting raids that targeted bike-theft gangs.   

While those constabulary operations may have reduced, if only slightly, the number of bikes that are "nicked", they have not, by any means, solved the problem.  And it seems that thieves are as brazen as ever.

How bold are they?  Here's one who cut through the lock in broad daylight yesterday--Easter Sunday:




The bike belonged to a 13-year-old boy who'd gone to FOPP, a shop that sells books, films and music, in the center of town.  

After filming, someone confronted the thief, asking him where he got the bike.  "Don't worry about me, mate, worry about yourself!" he said.

No Fries With That Sandwich. But I'll Take A Bike, Please!

When I was careening thorugh the concrete canyons of Manhattan, making sometimes-questionable deliveries, it was common knowledge (or, at least, a widely-believed urban myth) that if your bike was stolen, you should head to St. Mark's Place.

In those days, before "Alphabet City" and the Lower East Side gentrified, it was common knowledge that you could "buy anything" on St. Mark's.  By "anything", we didn't mean T-shirts, keychains and other overpriced chotchkes made by Chinese prisoners and emblazoned with the "I Heart NY" logo, although you could get those.  Ditto for anything a hippie who might not have even been born when the real hippies were sauntering in their cannabis-addled haze through the neighborhood might want.  For that matter, we weren't even talking about the great pierogis you could get around the corner or the heavenly hammentashen and sumptuous strudels from Moishe's Bakery on Second Avenue.

What we meant was that, in addition to any substance or service someone might want on a Saturday night (or if one is new to town), you could buy all sorts of things that "fell off the truck" or that people "found".  Those items included, of course, bicycles.  

It was said that all of the bicycles used by restaurant delivery workers "came from" St. Mark's.  So, I suspect, did at least a few messengers' bikes.  I know for that bikes were indeed sold there, even though--to my knowledge--no bike shop (or any other kind of retail store that might sell bikes) has ever operated there.  In fact, as I rode there one night, someone crossed into my path with a bike he wanted to sell me. 

Alas, I never found any of my stolen bikes there.  But I knew other messengers, delivery people, commuters and recreational cyclists who did.  In every instance, someone tried to sell their bike back to them--not knowing, of course, that the would-be customer was the person from whom the bike was stolen.   One fellow of my acquaintance claimed that he punched the would-be small-time entrepreneur in the nose and took his bike back.  I'm sure others did the same.

Then, as now, retrieving stolen bikes or going after bike thieves wasn't very high on the NYPD's list of priorities.  Sometimes I wonder whether they know that most people will simply give up if they're not re-united with their bikes within a couple of days...

...let alone a couple of years.  Or more.  Apparently, that is the story of a few people whose bikes ended up at Los Amigos 2, a bodega in Camden NJ.

Camden (NJ) Police Captain Gabriel Camacho, Sergeant Jannel Simpson and Captain Rich Verticelli with bikes recovered from Los Amigos 2.

Police discovered a stockpile of bikes in the shop's basement when responding to, ironically enough, a burglar alarm.  Cops were searching the store for a suspect when they came upon the stash:  91 in all.  Nobody knows how many other bikes passed through.

Now, if you were in St. Mark's in the heyday of punk and New Wave, try to imagine the neighborhood without the band--or without the movie houses it had (It still has one.), coffee shops or even its dive bars.  (Back in the day, you went to a dive bar--or shopped in a thrift shop--because you couldn't afford to go anywhere else:  There was no cachet in doing so.)  Or try to imagine Newark NJ or Richmond CA, without the charm (really!). Then you'll have an idea of what Camden is like.

Like St. Mark's of yore, Camden is a magnet for the drug-addicted , in part because of the treatment facilities and shelters located in their vicinities. Some bring bikes or other items they stole, sometimes far from the neighborhood, to get money for a "fix."  

Some of the bikes recovered from Los Amigos 2

One thing I found interesting is that the bodega was paying less money for bikes--"up to $20", according to a police spokesperson-- than the unscrupulous were paying on St. Mark's more than three decades ago.  I wonder whether that is a signal that the number of desperate or otherwise impaired people who would steal a bike and sell it for a "fix" is so much greater than it was in the St. Mark's of my youth.

Bodegas, like other small grocery stores, are about convenience.  But a bicycle with your sandwich and cerveza?

A BIke Thief Who Changed The World? Or: How A Stolen Schwinn Gave Birth To "The Greatest".

Sixty dollars was a rather princely sum--especially for a 12-year old boy's bicycle--sixty-two years ago.

But even if not for its price tag, its disappearance would leave its owner devastated.  Especially given that the boy had just gotten the brand-new Schwinn as an early Christmas gift, and it was in his favorite color--red.

Said boy went, with his buddy, into Columbia Auditorium in Louisville, KY---according to some accounts, for the free popcorn inside.  When they returned, they had two more cartons of popcorn, but two fewer bikes, between them.

Enraged, the boy reported the crime to a policeman, one Sergeant Joe Martin.  In recounting his loss, the boy vowed to "whup" the perp.

Sergeant Martin's life experience and wisdom came into play.  He advised the boy bereft of bike to learn how to fight before confronting a bicycle thief.

Sergeant Martin was something of a Renaissance man.  While off-duty, he was, among other things, a boxing trainer.

By now, you may have figured out where this story is going.  The 12-year-old boy was known as Cassius Clay.

Yes, that Cassius Clay.  The one who would, a half-dozen years later, win the gold medal in the 1960 Rome Olympics.  And, three and a half years later, a heavily-favored named Sonny Liston--who looked like someone you wouldn't even want to meet in a seminary, let alone in a dark alley-- would not answer the bell after the seventh round. The handsome, brash Clay thus became the second- youngest heavyweight champion in history:  a distinction he would hold for more than two decades, until Mike Tyson defeated  Trevor Berbick.

Shortly after defeating Liston, Clay converted to Islam under the tutelage of Malcolm X.  He would follow his mentor in renouncing his "slave name" and become Cassius X,  and, not long after, adopt the name by which we mourn him today:  Muhammad Ali.

Malcolm X photographs Muhammad Ali from behind a soda fountain counter in Miami shortly after Ali (then Cassius Clay) defeated Sonny Liston for the World Heavyweight Title.

What I know about boxing can fill this sentence. All right, I take that back:  I grew up hearing a lot about it, and even watching fights--which, in those days, were on regular network TV, in prime time no less.  You see, my grandfather loved boxing.  And his brother-in-law--my great-uncle, on my father's side--was a prizefighter in his youth. I was told he was an early Gold Gloves champion as a bantamweight or welterweight (he was indeed diminutive), although I have not been able to verify this.

Both my grandfather and my great-uncle acknowledged Ali's greatness as a fighter, though both continued to refer to him as Cassius Clay.  My grandfather did so for the reasons you might expect of a white man of his place and time, but my great-uncle actually knew Clay, somewhat, before he became Ali.  He always said Clay/Ali was indeed "the greatest"--of this generation, he added--but nobody was, or would be a better heavyweight fighter than Joe Louis.   (And, he once said, nobody was a better man than Jackie Robinson.)

Whatever.  Ali was certainly the greatest fighter I ever saw, for what that's worth.  But more to the point, if I had children, I would tell them to look to him as one of their role models. (Kids should not have only one role model.)  He stood for what he believed in, even when it cost him--in his case, nearly four years in the prime of his career. Imagine what that career would have been like had he not been banned from fighting during those years because he refused to fight in the Vietnam War!

And, let's face it, the man had a personality that transcended everything he did, whether as an athlete or a human-rights activist.  He was often accused of "showboating".  I don't think that's fair or true.  Rather, I think he was born to be in the spotlight, and he couldn't have done anything to change it.  Some years ago, I recall a photographer or news producer--I forget which, and I forget whom--saying something to the effect that it was impossible to take a bad picture of Ali.  

It wasn't just his looks, though few young men were ever looked better. Even the word "charismatic" almost trivalizes the qualities he had.  Whatever word or words do him justice, he was born to be a beacon or a lightning rod.  And he was both.  If that's not a full life--one that ended just after midnight this morning--I don't now what is.

As for whoever stole 12-year-old Clay/Ali's bike all of those years ago:  He or she might well be the only bike thief (or one of the few bike thieves) who changed the world for the better.  

Wow!  I never thought I'd say anything like that.  

R.I.P. Muhammad Ali

Do Bikes Cause Bike Thieves To Steal?

Whatever your politics, whatever your religious beliefs (or lack thereof), whatever your situation in life--if you are reading this blog, there is one kind of person whom you find irksome, loathsome or something in between.

That kind of person is a bicycle thief.  If you've been riding long enough in the US or in any number of other places, chances are you've lost a bike to someone who didn't ask or pay for it.  And, I'll bet that even if you oppose capital punishment or anything "cruel and unusual", you've thought of ways to "teach a lesson" to whoever took your treasured two-wheeler.

I must admit: One of the things of which I'm proudest is having stopped a bicycle theft.   Actually, I wasn't so much proud as I was gleeful, almost giddy, to see the expression on the would-be thief's face when I tapped him on the shoulder as he was trying to break the lock on a parked bike.

That day, I stopped someone else's bike from being stolen.  But a couple of times in my life, I couldn't do the same for my own bike.  Perhaps those experiences are the reason why I feel a more visceral kind of anger toward bike thieves than I feel toward others who have committed more "serious" crimes.  I hope that the ones who took my bikes--and the one who tried to take someone else's bike until I stopped him-- had some terrible fate befall them.  Maybe they got chewed up between an inch-pitch chain and sprocket!

All right, I'll stop with the fantasies of torture and dismemberment.  But I'll pose this question to you:  What is a good penalty to impose on a bike thief?

I got to thinking about that question upon learning about John Liddicoat.  The homeless 47-year-old Englishman has 48 convictions for 142 offenses, many of which include bike thefts.  In his most recent incident, he targeted the garage of a house in the Devonshire community of Plymouth. 

In his latest hearing, Judge Ian Lawrie said "You have an appalling record, you are incapable of behaving yourself and you have not learnt your lesson" in handing down Liddicoat's sentence:  a lifetime ban from bicycling.

Yes, you read that last phrase right.  Liddicoat is not allowed to ride a bicycle again, ever.  In fact, he is not allowed within four meters (about 13 feet) of a bicycle--or to enter the campus of any college or school, the places where he committed most of his thefts.

Would you let him within four meters of your bike?

Now, you are probably wondering:  a.) How will the ban be enforced?, and b.) Will it actually stop his criminal behavior?

I couldn't find any answer to a).  Has Apple or some other company been commissioned to make a wrist or ankle bracelet that can detect bikes within his sphere?  Or will bobbies be deployed to watch his every move? 

As for question b.), I think most of you would agree that the answer is most likely "no".  You probably came up with that answer even if you didn't know that he has battled heroin addiction though basically all of his adult life and that he'd just spent three and a half years in jail for his latest stealing spree.

In his most recent burglary of the garage, he also took 20 bottles of wine the homeowner had been saving for Christmas.   Hmm...Will he be banned from being around bottles of Bordeaux?   Is there any way of preventing him from pilfering Port?

 

What If The Bike Thieves Are Bullies?

If you've read any of my posts about bikes I used to own and ride, you know that I've had a few stolen. 

If you've had a bike stolen, you know that few things can make you feel worse.  Actually, at the moment you realize your bike is gone, it seems that nothing can make you feel worse--even if you've experienced the three D's--deaths, divorce and depression. As Tom Cuthbertson wrote in Anybody's Bike Book:  "Stealing a bike from someone who loves and depends on it is one of the lowest things one human being can do to another.  For God's sake, if you have to steal, steal something else."

Recalling that passage, for me, begs the question of how to treat a kid who steals another kid's bike.  Should the kid who stole the bike be punished?  If so, how?  And, if that kid beat up the kid whose bike he/she (Let's not be sexist here!) took, does that change your mind about whether or how to punish?


According to police in Hallandale, Florida, on 4 January two second-grade boys punched another boy and tried to get away on his bike.  Shortly after, police arrested the two boys.  Prosecutors then decided the boys are too young to be charged.  Instead, they will attend a mandatory after-school counseling program.

The comments on the article I linked showed no sympathy for the boys.  Whether they are counseled, punished or dealt with in some other way, the goals should be to show them that there are consequences to their actions and help them to change their behavior--not for adults to exact revenge or express anger or frustration. 

I've never been a parent, so make what you will of what I recommend.  On the other hand, I am an educator, so I think I know a thing or two about what helps kids grow up.  Then again, I remember how pissed off I was when my bikes were stolen...

Reunited With A Favorite Bike

For those of us who are dedicated cyclists, nothing hurts worse than having our beloved rides stolen.  It's happened to me a few times.  I lost bikes that, frankly, were meant for the purpose: "beaters" that were meant to be locked in urban combat zones.  However, I also lost a relatively nice bike and my first custom build to thieves.

For a time, I thought that having had more than one bike stolen was a sign that one was a true New York cyclist.  Just about everyone with whom I've ridden in the Big Apple has had at least one bike to theft.  In fact, one fellow with whom I sometimes rode in Prospect Park actually sat shiva after losing his classic Ron Cooper.

(I am now recalling how, when drafting him, I would see the tzitzit dangling from the tallit katan he wore under his jersey!  Only in pre-hipster Brooklyn, right?)

For about 99 percent of us, having a bike stolen means never seeing it again.  That's because bikes are pretty easy to transport, take apart and repaint.  Also, law enforcement agencies--at least here in the US--don't seem to make bike theft a high priority.  That's at least somewhat understandable in areas with lots of violent crime but less so, I feel, in relatively tranquil places like suburban or rural college campuses.

Still, when we lose our bikes, we try not to lose hope of being part of the 1 percent whose machines are recovered.  As with just about any other kind of theft, the more time that elapses from the moment the bike is filched, the less likely that bike is to be reunited with its owner.  And, of course, if you lose your wheels far away from home, there's even less chance that you'll ever see them again.

Such a realization left a fellow named Thomas "bummed/heartbroken" the day he left Japan in 1992.  For the previous two years, he'd been stationed in the  northern part the country as a US Navy Pilot.  The riding was "beautiful" there, he says, and the Mercian Strada he'd purchased as a college student a decade earlier got him around. 

He'd raced on that bike against folks like Davis Phinney, Alexi Grewal and Andy Hampsten before even most cyclists had heard of them.  It also made an appearance in the movie American Flyers.  As he explains it, he rode as an extra with the Cinelli team.  The bike the team issued him broke three weeks into the filming, so his Mercian took over.

Well, one cold day a year into his tenure in the Land of the Rising Sun, he stopped at a ramen house to warm his bones with a bowl of noodles.  He parked his Mercian outside the eatery and--you guessed it--his bike wasn't there when he came back out.

He filed a report with the local Japanese police as well as with base security.  No luck--at least not for a while.

In 2009, he was stationed with a squadron in San Diego. As he tells the story, one "glorious" day (Aren't they all in San Diego?), a box appeared on his front porch.

You guessed it:  his Mercian was inside the box.  At least, the frame was, anyway:  the Campagnolo and Cinelli parts, and even the fork, were stripped off. 

Somehow or another, the frame was recovered in Japan.  Because he was in the military, Thomas was much easier to track down than his bike. 

He spent the next few years tracking down replacement components. Once he found them, he sent the frame back to Mercian for restoration. "I'm sure that my next ride on the bike will give me just as much and more joy than that first ride in 1981."

Even though I read and watch all sorts of dark and moody books and films, I like a happy ending now and again.  This one is even better than the one in Breaking Away, don't you think?
 

Can You Steer Someone Away From Stealing Your Bike?

The first person I ever knew who rode a fixed-gear bike outside a velodrome was a librarian at Rutgers, the college I was attending.  

Like many campuses, Rutgers suffered more than its share of bike thefts.  So did the surrounding city of New Brunswick, which was going post-industrial before anybody started using that term.  The problem was, nobody figured out what would replace those industries that were leaving the city.  (Rutgers?  What an idea!  Why didn't I think of that?!)

Still, this librarian--who looked like a Zen monk, though I couldn't have told you that because, at that time, I had no idea of what a Zen monk looked like!--never locked his Schwinn Paramount track bike whenever he went into a store, another Rutgers building or even when he went to see a film.  He wasn't worried, he explained, because bike thieves "don't know how to ride one of these bikes."  Someone who "borrowed" his steed, he said, "would break his legs" the moment he tried to coast or stop.

In those days, that was probably true.  Most thieves would have gone for a ten-speed bike from one of the popular makers of the time, such as Schwinn, Peugeot, Fuji, Motobecane or Raleigh.  Of course, a desperate person or a thief who didn't yet know any better would probably steal anything, but the common wisdom of the time said that thieves were thinking about quick turnaround and high resale value.  Back then, most thieves' potential customers would have turned up their noses at a bike with "only one" gear, probably conflating it with kids' bikes that came with coaster brakes.

In all the time I knew and rode with that librarian, he never had his bike stolen.  I wonder if he ever lost it later, when fixed-gear bikes became more popular.  For that matter, I wonder whether he's still riding or even alive, as he wasn't a young guy (though he rode like one) in those days!

I got to thinking about him and his bike when I saw this:




On Cool Things

Apparently, the lock in the cap keeps the bike from being steered.  So, if a thief makes off with your wheels, he can only ride in a straight line--even if a truck is directly in front of him.  Or someone crosses in the middle of the block.  Or someone with a leash longer than the Verrazano Bridge lets her dog run into your path.  

The librarian/rider said a thief would probably break his legs before he got anywhere with the bike. If someone takes a bike with the cap-lock, he or she will break--just about everything else, on his or her body, and the bike.

Or, someone could just pick up an unsteerable bike and load it into a truck or van.  If a human makes a lock, another human can find a way to break--or get around--it.

Hmm...Maybe there is no better deterrent to theft than a bike nobody else knows how to ride!