One Does Not Cage the Crow

I love my bike, but it's slowly killing me.  The year has not been kind to it.  It's rusted in weird places, and as I pedal, sometimes I can feel vibrations rumbling through my foot.  It squeaks, clacks, and sometimes produces this grating noise that seems to penetrate my very being.

So soon, I came to the realization I needed a new bike.

Some of you might remember how I obtained my current bike.  I woke up at the unholy hour of 4:30 am to stand in the cold with my friend and several other bike-less people to enter the city's auction of abandoned bikes.  So, since I need a new bike, I decided to try this again.  This time, however, when I woke up, it was raining, and I seriously considered going back to bed.  But something kept me awake.  An evil something...

So I headed down to the bike auction, alone this time, but better dressed, and completely warm.  I brought a book, a book-light, and a muffin.  The wait did not bother me.

And I ended up finding a pretty awesome bike - it was green, aluminum (meaning no rust and super-light) and even had gears!  It was one of the better bike brands.  I purchased my new find and rode it home.  It was like riding on air.  Amazing.

I chained it up outside, right next to my old bike.  I even admired my new bike from my window.

The next day I looked out the window.

It was gone.

I ran outside to where I had left my bike.  My old bike was still there, slowly rusting away.  My new bike, along with the chain, were nowhere to be seen.

I spent the next several hours running around - around the neighborhood looking for my bike, in case some drunk students moved it as a prank.  To the place I bought the bike where they politely told me it wasn't their problem.  To the police station where they had me file a report, but said there was little they could do.  I spent the afternoon wandering the main part of the city, looking at the endless seas of parked bikes, looking for my own.  I found several that looked very similar, but always there was something that let me knew it was not mine.  After all, there are a lot of bikes in this city. 

Days past.  Every time I passed a bike rack, I would look for my lost bike. 

Will I ever find you?

I don't know if I'll ever stop looking, but chances are, I'll never see my bike again.  One of my (Dutch) friends consoled me by saying, "Congratulations - you are now officially Dutch."

If those evil bike thieves could glimpse the grief and sadness that they caused me, having only been able to ride my new bike a grand total of 5 minutes, perhaps they would have reconsidered stealing that bike.  Or perhaps there really are soulless and heartless people in the world.

You may have noticed, my old bike wasn't stolen, although the evil bike thieves certainly walked right by it.  After conveying my anger, one of my friends told me a story - he and his wife left their bikes chained together to a tree.  One day, when they returned, the chain was cut.  Her (nicer) bike was taken, but his bike, the old trashy bike, was still there.  He said, "Happiness is low expectations and a trash bike".

One does not cage the crow... he is free.