The (Potential) Bicycle Thief
As seen in the Oregon Daily Emerald!
I, like many other students, walk to all of my classes. Healthy as that may be, it takes a little longer than I’d like it to. Many times I’ve wished for the ability to leap miles in a single bound; not only would I be able to clear the entire campus in a matter of seconds, but it would also be a pretty good icebreaker with women.
Try as I might over the summer, I was unable to develop superpowers of that nature, so I went for the next best thing and bought a bike. The bike I bought was brand new – in retrospect, I probably should have bought a used one from CraigsList, but I have a certain aversion to buying expensive items from the same site where people try to arrange anonymous sex hookups. Instead, I made my purchase at The Bike Gallery in Portland, a reliable and well-managed store where to my knowledge no one has ever tried to organize a threesome.
I worked two jobs this summer and thus had a considerable amount of money to spend, so I went to town customizing my bike with fenders, flashing head and taillights, rear view mirror, self-heating seat, power steering, four cupholders, and OnStar support. By the time I was finished, what had once been a simple means of transportation was now the two-wheeled equivalent of a Cadillac Escalade. If Snoop Dogg rode a bike in one of his videos, it would be just like mine. I love my bike dearly, and I get the idea that had I bought a heart for it, my bike would love me back.
As I walked my heavily modified monstrosity toward the door, my salesman asked me what I was planning on using it for. I started to explain that I was going to ride it to class, but no sooner I spoken the words “University of Oregon” than the salesman’s eyes widened with fear. A frigid, bitter wind swept through the suburban bicycle shop as he pulled me close with the sudden urgency of a man attempting to prevent a disaster of unspeakable proportions.
“You can’t take a bike like that to Eugene. Thieves will tear it apart in seconds. It’s like ‘Mad Max’ down there.”
Struggling in his uncomfortable embrace, I tried to explain that I had bought a Kryptonite Lock, which I thought was enough to protect my new purchase in the hive of scum and villainy where I go to school. The salesman pointed out how wrong I was by telling me tales of bike thieves armed with pickup trucks and bolt cutters, ruthless street urchins who leave only the twisted remains of once proud bikes in their path. After hearing several stories about bikes considerably less nice than my own getting stolen, I realized that leaving my bike unattended on campus would be a lot like the scene in ‘Jurassic Park’ where they put the cow into the velociraptor pen.
As I write this, my bike is sitting behind me in the corner of my apartment. Oh, sure, there are bike lockups outside in the courtyard of my complex, but I don’t trust them. Sure, a brightly lit, fenced in compound well removed from the street may be safe enough for other bikes, but certainly not for mine. As I see it, the siren song of my bike is strong enough to draw criminals from miles around, and not just your ordinary criminals – the genius, ‘Ocean’s 11’ type of criminals, ready and willing to subvert any and all security measures in the pursuit of the big payoff. Come to think of it, my bike probably isn’t even safe in my apartment. I should buy a gun.
My bike has scarcely been out of my apartment since I got here. Sure, I ride it every once and awhile, but only when I’m going somewhere where I know I won’t have to let it out of my sight, and even then I worry that a crack squad of ninja bike thieves will steal it out from under me as I pedal. So every day I walk to class, and the bike I bought to speed up my life cowers safely under lock and key. Is it hypocritical to not ride my bike out of fear that it will get stolen and I won’t be able to use it anymore? Of course not.
This way, at least I get to look at it.
I, like many other students, walk to all of my classes. Healthy as that may be, it takes a little longer than I’d like it to. Many times I’ve wished for the ability to leap miles in a single bound; not only would I be able to clear the entire campus in a matter of seconds, but it would also be a pretty good icebreaker with women.
Try as I might over the summer, I was unable to develop superpowers of that nature, so I went for the next best thing and bought a bike. The bike I bought was brand new – in retrospect, I probably should have bought a used one from CraigsList, but I have a certain aversion to buying expensive items from the same site where people try to arrange anonymous sex hookups. Instead, I made my purchase at The Bike Gallery in Portland, a reliable and well-managed store where to my knowledge no one has ever tried to organize a threesome.
I worked two jobs this summer and thus had a considerable amount of money to spend, so I went to town customizing my bike with fenders, flashing head and taillights, rear view mirror, self-heating seat, power steering, four cupholders, and OnStar support. By the time I was finished, what had once been a simple means of transportation was now the two-wheeled equivalent of a Cadillac Escalade. If Snoop Dogg rode a bike in one of his videos, it would be just like mine. I love my bike dearly, and I get the idea that had I bought a heart for it, my bike would love me back.
As I walked my heavily modified monstrosity toward the door, my salesman asked me what I was planning on using it for. I started to explain that I was going to ride it to class, but no sooner I spoken the words “University of Oregon” than the salesman’s eyes widened with fear. A frigid, bitter wind swept through the suburban bicycle shop as he pulled me close with the sudden urgency of a man attempting to prevent a disaster of unspeakable proportions.
“You can’t take a bike like that to Eugene. Thieves will tear it apart in seconds. It’s like ‘Mad Max’ down there.”
Struggling in his uncomfortable embrace, I tried to explain that I had bought a Kryptonite Lock, which I thought was enough to protect my new purchase in the hive of scum and villainy where I go to school. The salesman pointed out how wrong I was by telling me tales of bike thieves armed with pickup trucks and bolt cutters, ruthless street urchins who leave only the twisted remains of once proud bikes in their path. After hearing several stories about bikes considerably less nice than my own getting stolen, I realized that leaving my bike unattended on campus would be a lot like the scene in ‘Jurassic Park’ where they put the cow into the velociraptor pen.
As I write this, my bike is sitting behind me in the corner of my apartment. Oh, sure, there are bike lockups outside in the courtyard of my complex, but I don’t trust them. Sure, a brightly lit, fenced in compound well removed from the street may be safe enough for other bikes, but certainly not for mine. As I see it, the siren song of my bike is strong enough to draw criminals from miles around, and not just your ordinary criminals – the genius, ‘Ocean’s 11’ type of criminals, ready and willing to subvert any and all security measures in the pursuit of the big payoff. Come to think of it, my bike probably isn’t even safe in my apartment. I should buy a gun.
My bike has scarcely been out of my apartment since I got here. Sure, I ride it every once and awhile, but only when I’m going somewhere where I know I won’t have to let it out of my sight, and even then I worry that a crack squad of ninja bike thieves will steal it out from under me as I pedal. So every day I walk to class, and the bike I bought to speed up my life cowers safely under lock and key. Is it hypocritical to not ride my bike out of fear that it will get stolen and I won’t be able to use it anymore? Of course not.
This way, at least I get to look at it.