My Bike Was Stolen In DC

My bike was stolen this morning, and I am bitter. It's challenging my ability to make lemonade from lemons.

We bid you "adieu"...

This is not be my usual style of post....I had planned to blog today about my one man revolution to improve the surliness of cyclists in Rock Creek park (it is going to involve waving and saying a cheerful "hello", despite the grousing, grumbling, and grumpiness I see every time I ride through there). it might have been humorous.

It certainty would have been entertaining.

Now I get to blog about my experience of a stolen bicycle.

Just the Facts, Man

I rode my morning commute route into DC, pulled up in front of the YMCA on Rhode Island Avenue, and dutifully locked my bike to one of the many permanent racks there. I had a cable lock, and I looped it through both wheels and my seat. I then looped it through the rack.

The scene of the crime...

Inside I went, seeking a shower and a few conversations about my new role as a spin class instructor. Cleansed and informed, I went back outside to mount my steed for the short (two block) trip to the office.

I walked to the rack...and nada.

Mere vapor where my bike should have been.

"Shite."

Someone else was unlocking her bike as I cursed. I told her my bike had just been stolen. She was shocked.

I then walked the ten paces over to the welcome table the Y has set up for the Day Camp kids. Five young men and women were there. No one saw anything. And who could blame them? A score or more cyclists lock their bikes in the mornings. Cyclists are so much background noise to them.

...but not your bike...

Inside, better information, one of the gentlemen who works at the Y said that he had seen someone sitting near the bike (that turned out to have been mine). He looked "suspicious". He was described as a tall, thin, black man with a grey floppy hat. (Aside: the person doing the describing is from the Caribbean, and he used the term "black". My generation can be a bit confused about the use of the terms "African American" and "Black". That's a subject for a different blog on a different day. Fortunately, it is not my description.)

Y employee looked him over, but couldn't see what he was doing. He filed the experience away, and was distressed to learn that my now-stolen bike was the bike that the suspect was sitting near. No one else saw anything else.

What to Do? (Metropolitan Police Oddnesses)

My conversations with the folks at the Y informed me that there have been at least four bikes stolen from there this summer. So, I figured that I should file a police report.

I wonder if any of these lot will help crack the case...

I called the general DC police number and was given another number to file a report. That number linked me into the 911 system. Odd, it was't an emergency. And I did not dial 911.

No worries, I was told. So I gave the basic information to the dispatcher, who told me I would get a call to file the report by phone.

Less than an hour later, I received a phone call from a heavily-accented male. Very heavily accented. An accent from the Indian sub-continent. Odd, I thought. I don't imagine that there are many heavily-accented Indians in the Metropolitan Police Department.

I gave my report. When he heard that I had a potential witness, he suggested that he dispatch a unit to the scene of the crime to take a statement.  "Cool," I thought. At least it will be official.

Long story longer, the officer was on scene prior to my arrival. he had already interviewed Y employee, and he informed me that there was very little he could do. He also set the expectation that it was unlikely that I would ever recover the stolen item.

Fair enough. At least I have done my due diligence in the matter.

The Aftermath

Bike, gone. No expectations of finding it again. As a member of my team wrote me: "your donation to the community, while unwitting, is appreciated none the less". I'll be sure to claim it on my taxes.

Insurance will cover part of the cost to replace, so I'm not going to let this get me too down.

I'm certainly not going to let this keep me from the commute. The solution? Ride directly to work and lock the bike in the garage. Walk to the gym to de-louse. Move along. Time to focus. I have a ton of parts sitting around, squirreled away over the years. And I really want a cyclocross bike.

So, let's get cracking! Let's build a bike!