Tell Us More

 When I wrote for a newspaper, I occasionally covered what my editor called “cops and robbers” stories.

One such tale involved someone who thought he could avail himself to some, shall we say, after-hours discounts.  As in “take one, get one free.”

Absent a store security video (not so unusual in those days), the investigating officers had to rely on eyewitnesses accounts—which, as any criminologist will tell you today, aren’t very reliable.  One such account described the suspect as a “White, possibly light-skinned Black or Hispanic” of “about average” height and build, wearing “jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers.

I looked at one of the officers. He started to laugh. So did I. “How many dudes fit that description?” I wondered.

“Exactly!” he replied.

I though about that when I saw this announcement in the Skagit Valley (WA) Herald:

A Schwinn bicycle with a rear rack? I’ve had a couple of those. But other than bearing the same brand and a rear rack, they had almost nothing else in common. 

Bicycles have been made and sold with the Schwinn name for 130 years, and have included everything from Krates to Heavi Dutis and Phantoms to Paramounts. Oh, and they’ve been made in a vast range of sizes and a wide spectrum of colors.

So, tell us more about that bike you found!

A Thief’s Trail Ends Next Door

 On my way out for a ride, I encountered this in front of a neighbor’s house:

That both tires were flat and the chain was rusted and “pretzeled” were signs of what I suspected.

Two other things clued me in.

Not only was the serial number, except for the first digit, removed; so was another unique (for Citibikes and other share bikes):

The mechanism that locks the bike into the dock was removed.  Here is what the front of a normal Citibike looks like:

I called Citibike and brought the pilfered (and probably joy-ridden) bike to the port down the street from my apartment.

Money And Memories, Transportation And Treasure

 Last month, I wrote about a British judge who did something few in the criminal-justice or law-enforcement systems do:  He took bike theft seriously.  That magistrate, in sentencing thieves, said the monetary value of each the defendants stole is as great as a typical car.

That perception, however incomplete, at least helped the judge understand that stealing those bikes was as serious an offense as other kinds of theft that are, usually, more severely punished.

There are, however, other reasons why bike theft should be as high a priority as other kinds of pilferage. One, which I mentioned in last month’s post, is that our bicycles are, for some of us, an important or primary means of transportation, just as autos are for some other people. And, of course, many of us also ride for recreation and fitness, which are as important as anything else to our individual and collective well-being.

And a broken heart is as deleterious to our overall health as any number of conditions mentioned in the DSM or medical journals. That is what some people suffer with the loss of a bike. Sure, a pair of wheels with a frame and pedals is replaceable—in a material sense, anyway. I could, in the same sense, replace a blanket I own. Monetarily, it’s probably not worth much. But in another sense, it’s priceless, at least to me: My grandmother started, and my mother finished, it.

For some people, a bike can have a similar value, which is often called, dismissively (especially if the one holding the value is female), “sentimental.”

I would bet that many of the bikes on eBay once held “sentimental “ value for someone: The seller’s parent or someone else may have ridden it across a campus, city or country before it was hung in a garage or barn.  Or it may have been passed down from a parent to a child.

The latter was the story behind a bicycle stolen from a woman in Millvale, Pennsylvania. She has spent “countless hours” restoring the “priceless family heirloom” to which she attached a baby carrier.

The suspect 

Fortunately for her, she has been reunited with her very practical treasure. Police, however, are looking for the man suspected of taking the bike.  They found him with the bicycle and, upon questioning, he claimed he owned the bike “forever.”

Of course, no one can make such a claim. But nobody could have come closer to having the right to make it—at least in reference to her “family heirloom”—than its rightful owner.

Is This What She Signed Up For?

You're a law student in your home country.  You sign up for a "work and travel" program so you can experience life in another land. In your case, that land is the US.

You find yourself working in a Dunkin' Donuts.  Pretty typical American experience, right? (Hey, I did it!)  But unlike many other Americans, you don't drive.  So you get to work on your bicycle.  You also explore the city in which you're spending your American sojourn on two wheels.

That is, until you can't--because you've had an all-too-typical American experience:  Your bike was stolen.  

What happened next to Nichcha "Ziggy" Tansakul is something she probably could no more have imagined than the theft of her bike when she was studying in her native Thailand.

She and her fellow Dunkin' Donuts workers called the police in Wareham, Massachusetts, the town where she's living and working.  Traffic enforcement officer Jamie White took the call.  He made a few calls, and soon he was buying her a new bike, and School Resource Officer picked up a locking device that is, hopefully, more secure than whatever she had been using.

Add caption

Later, other police officers gathered at the Dunkin' Donuts with some of Tansakul's co-workers.  Officer White brought her to the shop to present her with the new bike, lock and good wishes.

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.

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?

Bike Theft Really Stinks--Especially With This Lock!

That stinks!

I've uttered those words--and worse--when cycling buddies' and acquaintances' bikes were stolen.  And we've probably heard those same words from those who were sympathetic with our plight when we didn't find our bikes where we left them.

(Those who hate cyclists probably say, "Serves you right!")

Now, if losing your bike stinks, it's fair to say that bike thieves stink (or worse).  I almost wish that it were literally true:  Think of how many fewer bikes we'd lose if we could smell a bike thief in our vicinity. How might American history be different if Patrick Henry had proclaimed, "I smell a bike thief!"

Well, if engineer Yves Perrenoud and San Francisco-based entrepreneur Daniel Idzkowski have their way, we may be one step closer to tagging cycle crooks with an olfactory "scarlet letter".  Their invention will, at least, expose them in another way that is no less obvious.

Perrenoud and Idzkowski's "Skunk Lock" looks, apart from its graphics, just like any number of U-Locks available today.  Nearly all such locks are invulnerable for a year or two, until some thief figures out a way to foil it. 

These days, the preferred method seems to be cutting the lock with an angle grinder.  If a perp tries that on the Skunk Lock, it will emit a potent scent that will cause him or her to vomit--which, according to the inventors, would make it more difficult to flee unnoticed.

The nausea-inducing substance is based on the fatty acids found in foods like rancid butter and parmesan cheese.  While it smells "completely unpleasant", according to Perrenoud and Idzkowski, and can stain clothes and cause vision impairment and breathing difficulties--even if the would-be thief is wearing a gas mask--it will not cause permanent harm and is considered "food grade", they claim.

What really stinks about the Skunk Lock, though, is that its pressurized gas component, called The Shackle, can be used only once.  If there is an attempted break in the lock, a new Shackle can be purchased.

Idzkowski hasn't said how much it would cost to replace the Shackle.  However, a Crowdfunding campaign that has exceeded its target will allow the Skunk Lock to retail for about $40 when it's introduced--in June 2017, he hopes.

Vomiting?  Breathing difficulties?  Stained clothes?  Hmm...Maybe there will be, at last, a real stigma (which, by the way, means "stink") to being a bike thief!

Celeste, Rescued: My First Bianchi

Yesterday I wrote about a "rescued" bike.  Today I'm going to tell you about another one.  The difference is that the one I'm going to describe today is one I rescued.

It's also the first of four Bianchis I've owned in my life.  This is an old-fashioned made-in-Italy bike.  I'm not sure of the exact model, but I know that it was probably made in the 1970's or early 1980's, as the frame was made of Columbus "Aelle" tubing.  If I recall correctly, the dropouts, headset and seatpost were all made by Gipiemme, an Italian company that was influenced by, or copied outright, Campagnolo's desgins.  The name, interestingly, is the phonetic Italian pronunciation of GPM which, if I'm not mistaken, was the monogram of the company's founder.

The headset and seatpost were the only items that were on the frame when I got it from Toga Bicycle Shop near LIncoln Center.  I was friendly with one of the mechanics, a salesperson and with the owner, Len Preheim, to the extent that one could be friendly with him.  They were cleaning out the store's basement and unearthed the frame, which I got in a trade for, let's just say, something non-bike related.

I was glad that the seatpost came with the bike, as it was one of those non-standard diameter.  The headset worked after an overhaul; even if it hadn't, it wouldn't have been difficult to replace.  

Anyway, this became a "parts-bin bike."  By the time I got the frame, I had a pretty fair-sized trove of parts, most of which I stripped from bikes I had at one time or another.  

In its original iteration, the bike was intended as an entry-to-mid-level road bike.  Being made of Aelle tubing, the least expensive frame material Columbus made at the time, It was a bit heavier than the higher-level Bianchi road bikes.  So, perhaps, it wasn't quite as quick as a Columbus SL frame (of which I've owned two:  the Trek 930 and a bike I'll write about in the near future).  However, it gave a pretty stable and fairly nimble ride.

As you can see, I fitted a rear carrier to the BIanchi.  I rode the bike to and from work, and to classes during my first year and a half of graduate school.  I also took it on a couple of weekend trips in which I packed a change of clothes, a book or two, my camera and a couple of other items.

Although I rather liked the bike, it was too big for me: I think it was a 58 cm (about 23.5") frame, as measured from the center of the bottom bracket to the center of the top tube.  I normally ride a 55-56 cm, depending on the design of the frame.  

It size exacerbated another problem I had with that bike, and other road bikes I rode before I went for a custom bike: The top tube was pretty long.  That meant using a stem with a shorter extension than I might have otherwise used, which blunted the bike's handling. Later, I would try to solve the problem by going to smaller frame sizes (53-54 cm) and using a longer seat post.  When I did that, I missed the stability and the fullness of pedal stroke I could achieve with the slightly larger frames.

Anyway, I apologize for not having a better photo of the bike.  When I got it, the paint was in rough shape, though still unmistakably "Celeste".  

Because of its less-than-ideal fit, I was going to sell the bike.  However, someone got it for free when I parked it outside CBGB.  Hmm, maybe if I'd told Joey Ramone, he'd've done a song about it.