The bike I ride to the subway daily is old, heavy, and has no value. I received it from a friend when she was moving out of her home. Her plan was to leave it on the street the next day and see how long it took for it to be stolen. I took it instead.
For five years, I've ridden that bike to and from the subway in rain, snow, and other days I'm too lazy to ride my commuting bike all the way into my office. Back and forth we go together. The gears and brakes need to be fixed, but it serves its purpose perfectly well. Often, I have a skirt or dress on when I ride the bike, and I always pretend I am one of those fabulous women in France or Italy who ride down the street in their flowing skirts. J'adore.
Imagine my shock when I returned from vacation after a month only to discover my subway bike was gone. GONE! I immediately went inside to see if Ed knew what had happened to my bike. Clearly, nobody had stolen it because the other bikes were in the shed. For a moment, I thought maybe our home exchange partners had put it somewhere besides the shed and I just needed to find it. Ed knew nothing of the bike's whereabouts, so I walked to the subway - with my bike lock key - just in case I had left it there a month ago.
The good news? My bike was at the subway. The bad news, it had no seat. The even worse news (as far as my commute home was concerned) it had Ed's flexible tubing lock on it, not my lock. This meant it would remain entrapped for at least another day - until Ed could supply the key.
|Please - take me home - I've been outside for a month! Doesn't anybody even notice me?|
Which is why Wednesday night, Ed accompanied me to the metro to steal the bike. I called the non-emergency police number to let them know what was going on. It was not the most efficient operation you could imagine, because Ed's tools are not quite the right ones. Several onlookers suggested we might have more success with bolt cutters than with the hacksaw we were using. Thanks for that tip, sir. But I don't often find myself in this situation, so I don't own bolt cutters.
|Really, this is my wife's bike. I borrowed it without telling her. And I lost the key to the lock.|
My bike and I are reunited. And all I can say is - thank goodness nobody bothered to steal it before we got there and that, quite possibly, is because the bike has no value. The perfect plan to keep myself safe from property crimes.