… So the Saturday before Thanksgiving, I went for a “Saturday Saunter” ride, came back, leaned the bike against the house in the back yard and went in to grab a bite to eat before my bike project gig at 2:00.
Came out and it was gone. (The Xtracycle, parked nearby, couldn’t tell me what happened.)
I’ve made the police report and all that, and showed pics of my model to a student who lives in the area (tho’ mine is, of course, a whole lot more dinged and worn out). (It’s a blue 7500 FX if you’re wondering…) And frankly, the “ouch!” of its disappearance was a small, impersonal, theoretical “oh, that person should not get away with thievery!” thing, far from the repeated sense of gut-wrenching loss that I’d expected the other times I’d gone out when I’d left it or my other bike(s) in even more vulnerable positions and come back, they were still there, and I chastised myself with “how are you going to feel when you come out and it’s GONE??!!” It’s partly because a: I wasn’t also thinking “bike gone — how will I get where I need to go?” b: Okay, I have learned some detachment from material things and c: it’s just a bike. The expecting to see a person who’s gone sucks so much worse.
And now I get to shop for a bike.