Even Creepier Than A Thief In The Night

The day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night.

So are we warned in Paul's first letter to the Thessalonians.

A thief in the night is certainly cause for worry.  After all, I'm sure I'm not the only cyclists who's lost his or her steed to one.  I've also lost parts on bikes I've parked overnight in the path of some random crook.

As poignant as Paul's metaphor is, I have to wonder what he'd have said about another nocturnal perp.

The guy, who was caught on video, was walking around the Times Square area with a bag of feces.  (Back in the day, shadowy characters prowled the area with bags full of other things, some of which they sold to passerby!)  In the wee hours of one morning last week, he smeared the contents of his sack over the seats of Citibikes parked in the dock across the street from the Al Hirschfeld theatre, where "Kinky Boots" has been playing.

Worst of all, some people actually took the bikes without checking the seats.

This incident gives new meaning to the decals that have been applied to some of the city's rental bikes:

When I heard about the perp, who hasn't been caught, I imagined a(n) (over)zealous police officer stopping him and ordering him to open the contents of his bag! 
 

The Bike That Meant Everything

Having your bike stolen is never a happy experience.  Even if it's an old rust-holder or is ridden only occasionally, losing your bike means losing a part of yourself, however small.

The reason, I believe,is that any bike we own holds some part of our experience.  Of course, if it's a bike you ride every day, whether to work or for pleasure, it's a companion.  If you took a once-in-a-lifetime tour, or raced, on it, it was an extension of you.  And, even if your relationship with your steed isn't so intimate, you have a memory of acquiring it.

If the bike was previously ridden by someone dear to you, of course that makes it all the more precious.  Just ask Mikaela Rogers.

Three decades earlier, a teenaged Mike Rogers got tired of riding pieced-together hand-me-downs and saved the wages of his minimum-wage job for a black Bianchi Sport SS.  He rode it to school, on a tour and the bike paths that were later built in Minneapolis, near his home turf.  But one day he noticed that riding left him even more fatigued and in pain than usual.  He thought he was just out of shape and that he could pedal his way back to health.  If only...

He died three years ago from Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, also known as Lou Gherig's disease.

After he could no longer mount the Bianchi, Mikaela--who was, by that time, almost the same age Mike was when he bought it--rode to and from school and around town much as he did three decades earlier, even though the frame was much too big for her.  She simply wouldn't dream of riding anything else.

So, of course, one of her most heartbreaking experiences--short of losing her father--was going to the family's shed and not seeing the bike hanging from its usual perch.

Fortunately, this story has a happy ending.  Someone found the bike abandoned on a street corner, placed an ad in Craigslist and reunited the Bianchi--and the memories of the man who bought it so many years earlier--with a young woman.

A Beacon Or Deterrent To Thieves

If you live in an urban area (in the US, anyway), you've probably seen bikes with tacky or simply ugly paint glopped or blotched on them.  

The bikes' owners so deface them in order to make them less appealing to would-be thieves.

However, some argue that it can have exactly the opposite effect:  Crooks, they say, know that the bike must be good if someone made such an effort to make them visually unappetizing.  

In any event, the bike in the photo turned out to be,  on closer inspection, just a typical '70's Bike Boom ten-speed turned into a single-speed.  It's perfectly reliable transportation, I'm sure, but nothing special. Or, at least, it's not special enough that its owner had to make it seem less special.
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What's Your Idea Of A "City Bike"?

What is your idea of a "city bike"?

Some--including Grant Petersen of Rivendell--think that an old mountain bike with a good rack is, if not ideal, then at least the best possible.

Others, such as hipsters and some messengers would tell you that a fixed-gear bike is the only thing you should ride in the concrete canyons.  They would argue for the sheer simplicity of it.  A few would even go for a pure track bike with no brakes and a tight wheelbase, which makes them maneuverable.

Then there are those who want a plush bike to ride over sewer grates, potholes and all of the other hazards of the urban landscape.  Such riders--particularly those who do no other riding but their commutes--might opt for a hybrid or mountain bike with suspension in the front fork, and even in the rear.  Or they might ride cruisers or other fat-tired bikes.

There's also the English three-speed camp.  They are probably the most immune to fads:  Such riders will clatter along on their vintage Raleighs, Dunelts, Rudges and other machines from Albion.  Because they're immune to fads (at least in bikes), they never think of their mounts as "vintage," even if they those bikes were made before they were born.

Cousins, if you will, to the English three-speed crowd are the ones who like Dutch-style city bikes.  Some might also argue that these cyclists are variants of the comfort-bike crowd.  The difference is that, not only are the Dutch bikes built for comfort and durability, they also come with features that you may have never thought of having on your bike but "might come in handy", such as built-in locks and lighting.

And then there are those who like the speed and nimbleness of the road bike, but want a more upright riding position and a bit more style.  They're the ones who ride French-style city bikes and porteurs, which are based wholly or in part by the elegant machines made by constructeurs such as Rene Herse and Alex Singer.

Finally, there are the rat-rodders.  In other words, any bike that looks like it's been to hell and back is the right bike for the city.  Lots of cyclists here in New York follow that credo, which makes a lot of sense when you have to park your bike in high-theft areas.  The rat-rod can be just about any kind of bike; these days, the majority (at least here in New York) seem to be ten- or twelve-speeds from the '70's or '80's, or mountain bikes from the '90's.  Think of the guy (Yes, he's almost always a guy.) who delivers your supper from the Chinese restaurant or diner:  He probably brought your meal on a "rat-rod."

A variant on the rat-rodder is the urban cyclist who rides a Frankenbike.  You've seen them: the Specialized Rockhoppers with Schwinn Varsity rear wheels; the Peugeot ten-speeds with high-rise bars and forks in a color (and style) that clashes with everything else on the bike.

In the nearly three decades in which I've been riding in New York, and through the years I biked the boulevards of Paris---and while biking on trips to other large cities like London, Prague, Amsterdam and San Francisco, I have seen my notions of the "ideal" city bike evolve and change.  Sometimes I want comfort; other times, I want a bike that I can leave in urban combat zones as well as those areas--like the neighborhood around St. Mark's Place--to which thieves gravitate.  At times, I've craved speed and the ability to slice between parked cars and belching buses; at other times, I've worried about preserving dental work.  But I've always thought about what's practical for my errands, commutes and other ride-and-park activities like shopping.  And, of course, I've changed, and so has the city in which I live.

What's your ideal city bike?  Has your idea of it changed?  If so, how?

When Chattering Bike Geeks Perform A Public Service

If your bike is stolen in New York City, you have about a two percent chance of getting it back.  

Agata Slota didn't expect to beat those odds.  Her bike--which her brother built for her--was lifted near Union Square five years ago.  She posted an ad and photo on Craigslist.  A week later, they expired and she had not received any responses. She and her boyfriend started to plan on a replacement.

However, a friend posted the photo and an announcement of the theft on an online chat room for fixed-gear enthusiasts.  Several weeks later, someone posted a response after seeing Ms. Slota's bike locked up outside a Quizno's restaurant in Midtown.  This led to a series of a series of messages that resulted in Ms. Slota getting her bike back.

Jack Drury, a former bike messenger who was interning at Transportation Altenatives, was one of the people who read the post.  He went to the Quizno's restaurant.  The bike wasn't there, but on a hunch, he went inside and talked to the person behind the counter, who said the bike belonged to a delivery man who paid $200 for it. 

After negotiating a deal to buy the bike, Drury then enlisted a group of volunteers to go with him to the Quizno's, where the man with the bike was supposed to meet them.  He didn't show, but another employee told them about the man's second job as a dishwasher in an Upper West Side restaurant.  So Drury and his posse rode uptown where they met the man, who wasn't a very enthusiastic negotiator.  Drury then pulled out his cellphone and dialed the police.  While he was waiting to be connected, the man gave in.

Drury doesn't believe the man stole the bike and doesn't harbor any ill will toward him.  In fact, he offered the man one of his own bicycles and gave him his number. He hasn't heard back.

Needless to say, Ms. Slota has become more vigilant about bike theft.  From Drury, she learned not to lock her bike to a horizontal bar of a construction scaffold, as it is fairly easy to unscrew.  Better to lock it to the vertical post. 

She applied that lesson recently, when she saw two men admiring a Bianchi track bike in the way prospective thieves would.  When she asked the men about the bike, they took off.  Then, she got one of her own locks out of her office and secured the bike (which had been attached to the horizontal bar) to the vertical bar.    

She left a note with her phone number, and a message that she would unlock the bike after its owner called her.  Clearly, her own experiences motivated her to help prevent something similar (though with the probability of a less-happy outcome) from happening to somebody else.

And she's still riding the bike her brother built for her.

Warning Label

Last week, Steve A. of DFW Point to Point posted about locking his bike. 


The interesting thing about his security system is that it's actually more solid, or at least more effective, than it would appear to be at first glance.  He does concede, however, that the bike is 40 years old and is parked in a place where most people know it's his.


On the other hand, Steve's security system (or any other, for that matter) has nothing on this:

From: Stick Figs Warning Stickers

This sticker was listed on eBay, along with others from Stick Figs Warning Stickers.  As much as I enjoyed seeing it, I have to point out two problems.  

First of all, as I am a writer and an English instructor, I notice that the warning contains a comma splice.  If the comma were changed to a colon, and the "s" at the beginning of "Stay" were capitalized, the text would be fine. 

The other problem is in the drawing.  I have no problem with the art:  It makes me think of Keith Haring, possibly on crack, in a dark alley.  But if the standing figure is swinging the bat in the direction shown in the drawing, how would the other figure fall (float?) in the direction it's going?  Did the bat strike the bike and make it (him?) pop off the seat and into the air? If that's what happened, how would he (it?) fall backwards?  

I admit that I took Physics before many of you were born, and some things about it have probably changed.  But the movement in the drawing just doesn't make sense.  Still, I like the sticker, even though I'm not a violent person.

Well, I never used actual violence to stop a bike from being stolen.  I did, however, use the threat of violence to prevent  a bike theft--or, if you want to be more dramatic, to stop a bike thief in his tracks.

One warm evening about twenty or so years ago, I went to the Paris Theatre, which is across the street from the Plaza Hotel.  After seeing a film--I think it was "My Left Foot"--I walked along West 58th Street.  A wiry young guy lifted a Motobecane Grand Touring by its fork and rear stays and was turning the frame clockwise, trying to break the U-lock that clamped it to a bike rack.  

In those days, I was riding, on average, about 50 miles a day. (Yes, every day!)  I was also lifting weights.  A female friend used to say that I was always either glowering or scowling.  Whether or not that was true, I knew this much: Complete strangers used to cross to the other side of the street when they saw me. 

And that is what that would-be bike thief did, faster than anyone I've ever seen, when I planted myself, with my hands in my pockets, in front of him.  Even so, he just barely avoided getting hit by one of the taxis that zipped down 58th Street when the light turned green at Sixth Avenue.  I'm ashamed to admit this now, but I was actually more proud of how much I scared that guy than I was of keeping someone's nice bike from being stolen.  Maybe I would've felt differently if the bikes owner had shown up.  

Would I have been as effective if I'd had a warning label?