Remember when I bragged about how even the fire department couldn’t steal my bike (Modern Mugwump thumps on chest, a very proud bike owner)?
This is me eating my words. Quick, read that sentence again because I do not often admit that.
For weeks my roommate and I had been leaving our bikes in our entryway for the convenience factor, so we could do exactly what I did on Thursday morning: get dressed, roll up pant cuffs so as to not make ground chuck out of the hem of my jeans on the chain of my bike, tighten the Chacos (official footwear of Uptowners), put helmet on head and fasten snugly, grab super hip Timbuk2 bag with the handy stay-tight strap accessory for biking, blow a sweet kiss to the parked car that gets to stay parked, and . . .
This is the part where I would say “Hop on your bike, with the snazzy handle bars, and ride off into the sunshine enjoying the Greenway, the neighborhood, the lakes, wind in your face, gnats in your teeth. . . ahhhh what a ride.”
But not on Thursday because some idiot had the same idea, but with my bicycle. And the worst part about things like this, is you can be mad at the stealer of sweet bikes, but really I should have brought my bike into my apartment every day, and it’s so much worse when bad things happen to you and it’s your own fault, right? Right. A victim of convenience and my own nonchalance. Turns out I am not in Kansas anymore, Toto, and someone was brave enough to enter our place while we were home and take my two-wheeled companion on some joy ride and then probably dump her. Boo on them for that one.
So, yeah, currently on Borrowed Bike (Thanks, Dad!) and saving/looking for a new-used to love and to cherish. And to put sunshine handlebars on.