Isn't Losing Your Bike Bad Enough?

 Having a bike stolen is a bummer.  Stealing a bike makes someone a bum, or worse.

Sometimes I think the authorities don't take bike theft seriously because of a perception that we're all recreational rider; that for an adult, being on a bike doesn't serve a real purpose.

Of course, you know better:  You may be a bicycle commuter.  Your bike might be your primary, or only, vehicle, whether by circumstance or choice.  

Sometimes, it seems, we're not "redeemed", and the thefts of our mounts are not taken seriously, if we're not using our bikes for some "higher" purpose.  That is why I had mixed feelings when I read about Jim Plummer Jr. of West Warwick, Rhode Island. 

Of course I empathised with him in losing his bike, and rejoiced on reading that a Facebook campaign enabled him to buy another.  I had to wonder, though, whether the incident would have been noted at all had he not been riding as part of a benefit for the Children's Cancer Research Fund.

Jim Plummer, Jr.

I don't mean to disparage charity rides or campaigns:  I've done a few, and intend to do more.  But I don't believe we should have to do them in order to justify our riding, or for the thefts of our bikes to be as worthy of attention as other thefts.

A Wheel Disappears

If you saw my post from the other day, you may have noticed something different about my LeTour.

Last week, I left it parked outside overnight, next to the candy store/newsstand on the corner.  It’s a pretty visible corner, and people walk by it even in the wee-est hours of the morning.

But, apparently, someone keeps very different hours from theirs, or mine. 

Last Friday morning, I went to the candy store and discovered that the LeTour had been turned into a unicycle.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised:  the front wheel wasn’t locked.  Also, it has a black hub with a nutted (non-quick release), black spokes and  a black deep-V rim on which the sidewalls aren’t machined for brakes.  So, perhaps, someone wanted it for a “stealth” bike—or to sell to someone who’ll use it for that purpose.

Fortunately, I wasn’t going to use the bike when I discovered the theft.  I took a trip down to Recycle A Bicycle and asked them for the cheapest 700C front wheel they had.  It’s actually decent: all name-brand components, if the lowest-level model of each.  Heck, it even had a Velox rim tape in good condition.

So far, it’s working fine.  For twenty bucks, I got a wheel that someone trued and tensioned with a hub that seemed to have been regreased.  Good folks, they are, at Recycle A Bicycle.

Losing A Seat

I can't believe it happened again.


I take that back...I can.  Things are becoming more difficult, which means that people are becoming more desperate, or simply opportunistic.


Whatever the explanation, I experienced something I thought I knew better than to allow to happen.  


I took Vera to take care of some business in Midtown Manhattan:  34th Street,  a block from the Empire State Building, to be exact.  I locked up the frame and wheels and took off anything that someone could abscond with...or so I thought.


When I came out, after about an hour and a half, my saddle and seatpost were gone.  Perhaps the thief wanted the bike and, upon realizing he (All right, I'm sexist.) wouldn't get it, took what he could.


So now I'm out a Brooks B-17 saddle in honey.  Yes, I'm glad the thief didn't get the whole bike or, say, the wheels.  Still...

Losing My Seat Before The Storm

Yesterday was one of those days.  


When I went to unlock the Le Tour, this is what I found:

I suppose I could've ridden it.   I mean, after all, it had everyting except a seat post and seat.  Believe it or not, I've actually seen guys ride without them.  But I don't recall any female cyclists doing the same thing.  


The other night, I made sure to have all of my papers read and lessons prepared so I could have the time to ride.  So I was relegated to taking the train, and I had no work to do during the ride.  I guess that wasn't so bad:  I started to write something.  I'm note sure of what it is yet--poem,  story or whatever--or, whether anything at all will, in fact, come of it.


Teaching at my main job went OK and I managed to slip out a less-used gate to get to the bus that would take me to my part-time gig.  A layer of clouds bundled over the sky; rain was forecast but I still regretted not having ridden my bike.


I know, I could have taken Helene. (I was wearing a skirt.)  But if the racks at my part-time job were going to be as full (to overflowing) as they've been lately, I didn't want to park there and get scratches and dings or incur other damage.  And I didn't want to leave her out in the weather that blew by just as I was about to leave.


As you've probably heard,  a powerful storm ripped through parts of Brooklyn and Queens--including the neighborhoods in which my jobs are located.  In fact, a tornado was said to have touched down only a mile from my part-time gig.  Seing some of the damage and being stuck on a bus that could only sit behind four other similarly delayed buses at one intersection.   Finally, the cops let the driver open the door, and the driver advised us of another bus route we could take into Flushing, Queens, where I expected to get the train.  Alas, that train--the 7 line--wasn't running.  So there was another delay longer than the train ride would have taken. So I had to wait for a shuttle bus.  When it arrived, fights broke out among people who wanted to board.  


All told, getting home last night took about three and a half hours.  Cycling wouldn't have taken much more than an hour, at least for me.