theft

I should have been more careful. I should have known that a lock on a pole wasn't enough. I should have known that unless it is bolted to the concrete I run the risk of losing it in this town. But still, I was shocked when I walked out of Whisky in the Jar at about 6:45 p.m. and my bike was not where I left it.

My baby blue one-speed that I bought for 50 bucks from my roommate who bought it for a hundred is gone. For nearly a month prior to the theft I had logged somewhere between 15 and 20 miles a day on that thing.

I took to the streets as part of a project I was doing for www.modeldmedia.com where I tested how viable Detroit's transit was. I rode my bike and the bus for 30 days. And, well, almost fittingly, on the last day of this experiment, outside of Whisky in Jar, my bike was stolen.

After work on that fateful day I was meeting a friend for dinner at the Polish Village Cafe and had some time to kill. I rode around a bit then decided to unwind with a few drinks. Two to be exact. Two drinks in 45 minutes. I sipped them, read a bit, watched that crazy Japanese game show on the TV, then left.

I walked out and felt very confused, as if I misplaced something. It was that feeling you get in a large parking lot when you can't find your car times about a thousand.

"Where the hell is it?" I said aloud. A heat washed over my body. I convinced myself that
I locked it up somewhere else.

"It's over here, I put it over here, I know it," I kept thinking. But no, it was gone.

I have a feeling it was someone in the neighborhood, someone who saw me lock it up and then walk into the bar. And I have a feeling that they lifted it up over the post and did not cut the lock. Of course, this is neither here nor there. It's gone.

I keep my eye out for it everywhere. I think I see it everywhere. Of course it's not there and I'll probably never see it again.

Two days later I caught someone trying to steal Citizen Editor Chip Sercombe's bike right outside of the office on Caniff. It was three in the afternoon. He had small wire cutters and was trying to sever the bike lock. Maybe if he had another hour he may have gotten through. I walked up to him and asked him what he was doing.

He gave me a few stories. One about a guy who lost his bike lock key and was gonna pay him to get it back, one about a crackhead who wanted the bike, and one where he told me he was gonna sell it to a crackhead that was "just right over there."

I took the pliers and he walked away.

Anyway, I guess it goes to show you, no matter how much you love or care about a place, it will still bite you on the ass. It'll still sneak up on you and steal your bike while you're having a few drinks.

If you see a baby blue one speed that says All Pro on the frame it's mine. Call me up at The Citizen so I can start riding again. (313) 365-9500.

Be safe and keep your bikes locked up better than mine.