behold, the Wierdest Lunch-Hour Ever:
so last night i went to dearest Posh's old house to pick up my bike that i had left there five days or so ago during the move to my place. it was planned to be a short excursion - get a ride over with Aanya, grab the bike, then ride it home - but it ended up being quite different. it ended up being about as shitty as something can possibly be: my bike got stolen from my girlfriend's old house because i forgot to lock it up. at this point i should mention that my bike is a very heavily customized flatland bmx and my bike lock is a three-foot length of very heavy steel chain with a padlock on it. motherfuckers can't front on my lock, but i forgot to lock the damn thing up. a lot of the customization was done with the help of my friend who recently died up on the ski hill... it was something with a lot of him in it, and it was the only thing other than a set of beat-up snowpants i had to remember him by, so losing it was pretty solidly worse than just having a bike stolen.
basically, it was a bad night. i checked with everyone... no one had it, no one borrowed it. life's a bitch, and then a crackhead steals your bike.
so today i was talking to my coworker Dan, and being the cool guy he is, he offered to drive me around to pawn shops at lunch to see if it had shown up anywhere. we ended up visiting only one pawn shop because the owner of it told us that the cops monitor everything that goes through every pawn shop and filing a report would be the best way to go about it. not deterred in our mission to get the bike but with no idea how to find it, we did the natural thing and drove downtown to scan for crackheads riding my bike, and guess what happened...
dan: you always kind of hope it'll just happen the easy way... like you'll just get lucky or something.
me: yeah, like you're driving downtown and somehow out of all the streets in the city the guy who stole your bike is right there and you're just like "hey, that's my bike!".
fast forward three blocks...
me: HEY! THAT'S MY BIKE!
so we end up confronting a heavily muscled and tattooed native guy who was riding my bike (with the lock still on it) and his seriously hurting girlfriend on another obviously stolen bike. the lady had open sores on her face that didn't quite match the chrome on the GT pro model she was riding. anyways, Dan's a pretty solid country boy from alberta and when the crackhead insisted the bike was his he took his shirt off and got ready to take on a this mean looking crackhead guy. you've gotta hand it to Dan... he's no coward. i on the other hand ended up offering the dude $60 for the bike and walking away without either of us getting stabbed. i'm still not sure that i won't get stabbed, but hey, i've got the bike Chris helped me build back.
the story doesn't end there though, oh no. we grabbed the bike, threw it in Dan's truck, then headed two blocks over to the RCMP station. a cop showed up right away, got me in his cruiser, and we went right back and found the guy in the park. it turns out the dude is out on parole and the chick he was with is a junkie and dying... kind of rough. he's going back to jail for being recognized by the owner of a stolen bike he was riding... my dumb luck is his misfortune i guess. then again, either he or one of his greasy friends stole my bike, so i doubt anyone's going to shed a tear over society losing such a shining individual.
in the end though, i have my bike back. i'm insanely happy about lucking out and getting it, even if it cost me sixty bucks, and hey, i can now tell the story of The Wierdest Lunch-Hour Ever.
so last night i went to dearest Posh's old house to pick up my bike that i had left there five days or so ago during the move to my place. it was planned to be a short excursion - get a ride over with Aanya, grab the bike, then ride it home - but it ended up being quite different. it ended up being about as shitty as something can possibly be: my bike got stolen from my girlfriend's old house because i forgot to lock it up. at this point i should mention that my bike is a very heavily customized flatland bmx and my bike lock is a three-foot length of very heavy steel chain with a padlock on it. motherfuckers can't front on my lock, but i forgot to lock the damn thing up. a lot of the customization was done with the help of my friend who recently died up on the ski hill... it was something with a lot of him in it, and it was the only thing other than a set of beat-up snowpants i had to remember him by, so losing it was pretty solidly worse than just having a bike stolen.
basically, it was a bad night. i checked with everyone... no one had it, no one borrowed it. life's a bitch, and then a crackhead steals your bike.
so today i was talking to my coworker Dan, and being the cool guy he is, he offered to drive me around to pawn shops at lunch to see if it had shown up anywhere. we ended up visiting only one pawn shop because the owner of it told us that the cops monitor everything that goes through every pawn shop and filing a report would be the best way to go about it. not deterred in our mission to get the bike but with no idea how to find it, we did the natural thing and drove downtown to scan for crackheads riding my bike, and guess what happened...
dan: you always kind of hope it'll just happen the easy way... like you'll just get lucky or something.
me: yeah, like you're driving downtown and somehow out of all the streets in the city the guy who stole your bike is right there and you're just like "hey, that's my bike!".
fast forward three blocks...
me: HEY! THAT'S MY BIKE!
so we end up confronting a heavily muscled and tattooed native guy who was riding my bike (with the lock still on it) and his seriously hurting girlfriend on another obviously stolen bike. the lady had open sores on her face that didn't quite match the chrome on the GT pro model she was riding. anyways, Dan's a pretty solid country boy from alberta and when the crackhead insisted the bike was his he took his shirt off and got ready to take on a this mean looking crackhead guy. you've gotta hand it to Dan... he's no coward. i on the other hand ended up offering the dude $60 for the bike and walking away without either of us getting stabbed. i'm still not sure that i won't get stabbed, but hey, i've got the bike Chris helped me build back.
the story doesn't end there though, oh no. we grabbed the bike, threw it in Dan's truck, then headed two blocks over to the RCMP station. a cop showed up right away, got me in his cruiser, and we went right back and found the guy in the park. it turns out the dude is out on parole and the chick he was with is a junkie and dying... kind of rough. he's going back to jail for being recognized by the owner of a stolen bike he was riding... my dumb luck is his misfortune i guess. then again, either he or one of his greasy friends stole my bike, so i doubt anyone's going to shed a tear over society losing such a shining individual.
in the end though, i have my bike back. i'm insanely happy about lucking out and getting it, even if it cost me sixty bucks, and hey, i can now tell the story of The Wierdest Lunch-Hour Ever.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
monica:
poor bike 
snottlebocket:
great story, glad you have your bike back and you have some great friends if they're ready for a showdown with goliath looking crackhead dudes.