the Cannondale saga...

  ::warning.  graphic display of strong language::

  work days begin usually without an alarm.  i don't like them.  i wake up when i'm ready, shower, and cycle to the shipyard.  i'm a morning person, so this happens anywhere between the hours of 7 and 10- depending on what type of evening i've had the night before.  i've instituted something i officially call "leisure mondays"- basically, not rushing monday mornings and the start of the work week.  and it improves my own productivity not only that day, but for the rest of the week as well.  rolling up on the dock after ten o'clock is not unusual- in fact, it's what put into motion an interesting string of events that would unfold.

  my house is less than a mile from the shipyard, so it's a quick ride.  this monday morning was sunny and clear.  noaa was forecasting otherwise but, like every other man in my life, told me a big fat lie.   i tooled around on my new bike, and took my time enjoying the sunny weather instead of jetting right down.  before turning into the shipyard, i noticed two men also out riding their bikes maybe 100 yards in front of me.  they didn't seem to be in any real hurry or have an agenda.  and one of their bicycles was blue.  the sun hit the frame in just a way that peaked my interest just as it did the morning i test rode it in providence.  it was a beautiful color.  "sonofabitch" i mouthed to myself.  i furrowed my brow and watched them head over the goat island bridge to the wooden footpath that leads in front of the bow of Bolero down to a little wooden gazebo at a dead end out over the water.  instead of getting trapped on the boardwalk with them, i circled up over them on the bridge and looked down.  my jaw must have hit the floor.  that motherfucker was riding "old blue".  that's old blue.  i had given that bike up as gone forever, but realizing that she suddenly needed rescue caused other instincts to kick in. 

i will say that any notions of fear didn't really cross my mind.  when you're pissed, you're pissed and that's that.  seeing someone else put their hands on my old girl flipped a switch in me that hasn't been activated in a long while.  i was not about to be responsible for any of what was about to happen.  that fucking cunt went onto my private property and took what belonged to me.  my captain jokingly tells me i'm too territorial.  aww, hell no.  that sonofabitch was going to die.

while both men were still out on the footpath, i rode back to the entrance of the bridge and tossed "new blue" in the grass in front of the boat.  shit was about to go down.  i had my work jacket on and felt my pockets.  boat credit card... cell phone... ah, my leatherman.  without looking down, my thumb went through that familiar hand motion of flicking the knife out, and i stood calmly and breathing slowly to not let any adrenaline cause me to do something stupid.  so much for that.  in about 30 seconds, both men were heading back in my direction.

while i had resigned that bike as gone, there was a part in me that wondered what i would do in this exact scenario.  simple.  kick their ass.  but after taking one look at the guy at the helm, i soon realized this was not someone i even wanted to touch.  this guy was gross.  in fact, i didn't even want my knife to touch him.  and ewwwww.  he was sitting on my bike seat!  waaaahhhh!  disgusting!  i need some clorox wipes over here.  mehh.  i'm not sure what he thought was about to happen, but suddenly he was looking at a newly sharpened leatherman blade in his face.  i motioned with the knife for him to get off the bike.  no words were exchanged.  this was a hijacking as far as he knew.   i narrowed my eyes.  "take your filthy hands off my fucking bike."  was all that came out.  he muttered something about purchasing the bike.  "where are my FUCKING stickers?!  this bike had a newport shipyard decal on it, and you're so fucking STUPID to ride it right in front of every boat docked here?!"  he wouldn't look me in the eye and then mentioned something about not knowing this was my bike as he began to walk east off of the bridge.  i wasn't done.  "you're damn right you didn't know this was MY bike.  because i'll fucking stab your eyes out and put a hammer through your teeth if i EVER see you near my house EVER again!"

after the hammer remark, he took off running.  i thought of throwing the knife at him, but i didn't want to make this morning any more complicated than it had already become.  also, my aim is bad.   have you ever seen me at darts?  also i had two bikes to worry about now.  i put my tool back in my pocket and brought out my iphone.  i sat down on the curb and called the police.  "um, i filed a report for a missing bike two weeks ago.  i found it."  they wanted details.  whoop whoop.  there was a cop in front of me in no more than 15 seconds.  he had his mcguyver face on and told me to get in.  i got in.  he made me describe the suspect, and he radioed it to some of his constituents.  off we rode to coddington street where a man of that description was being held by no less than five other officers.  damn.  yes, i'm completely sure that's him.  yes, press charges. 

actually, it didn't go down that smoothly.  while he was being cuffed, he kept saying he was glad i have my bike back.  meanwhile, i'm in the police car pointing and screaming (mostly words that begin with the letter F) at him that i didn't have a chance to finish saying before he fled my earlier wrath.  he probably couldn't hear me, and all he saw was this crazy chick pointing and tacitly going mental from the other side of a closed cop car window.  judging by his appearance, this was probably something he's watched before.  he told the police he found my bike on memorial.  so kind of him to strip ALL the stickers off of it and ride it around for several weeks.  i'm sure he was minutes away from returning it before i ambushed.

so there was paperwork to fill out, statements to be made, photographs taken, and even a police blotter in the news.  which i wasn't so happy about but whatever.  these things just don't happen quietly.  not with me, they don't.  the leatherman was never mentioned, and they erroneously called me a 31 year old woman. 

so what can we learn from this?

1.  even if you lock your bike, it can totally be taken.  it's best to keep it inside your house- basement, anywhere other than outside.  don't be lazy.   you'll regret it and just wish you took the 2 extra minutes to walk it down those basement steps.   hell, i'll even LOCK it inside my house now.

2.  don't think some asshole isn't going to trespass onto your private property... have a gate?  have two gates?  have a concealed courtyard that nobody knows about?  great.  doesn't matter.

3.  the cops probably aren't going to find your stolen property.  it's up to you to secure your shit, and if it goes missing, to find your shit as well.

4.  register your bike with your town.   this may not help recover it, but will make police reports easier to fill out.

5.  put your bike on your homeowners.  insure that shit.

6.  i replaced my bike right away.  if i hadn't been out riding my bike, i would have never found the lost one.  now i have two.  i've had many offers for ol blue this week, but i am going to hold on to her for a bit now that she's cleaned off, tuned up, and back to her former glory.