Some absolute rotter has stolen my bike. My beloved bicycle that was brought during the London Terror attacks so I could get home has been take away by some absolute stinker.
It was a bit worn and wobbly and the brakes were more of a way of mildly slowing your pace rather than actually stopping. So it wasn't at it's best and I was thinking about getting a new bike but it had a special place in my heart because of when and how I brought it and because of all the adventures I had while riding it. Now it is gone.
It was securely locked up in the private garage here but clearly that wasn't enough to stop the horrible types who took it away. Well I hope they have an accident, and to be honest the brakes are so dodgy it's extremely likely.
7 comments:
Bad luck. Is there a second-hand market in stolen bikes? I would find that surprising.
GB - I'm sure some swarthy type will manage to get some cash for it - it was a rather spiffing red bike.
GB: England has a thriving black market for hot cycles (especially college towns, I'm told).
Hen Wen – the world's ugliest bike – was stolen from me under a High Street CCTV camera. The Thames Valley police reported: "Oh, we don't put film in that one. And even if we did, we wouldn't bother running the tapes for your cycle."
Oxford's finest...
I bought bicycle insurance when I lived over there (about 15 pounds annual, tagged onto the homeowner/renter policy). At least once a year, my ride and all my gear would be nicked – despite the precaution of two locks – so the numbers crunched out wonderfully.
Louche, condolences from Alaska!
Oh dear, I just remembered that "ride" means something quite different over there.
My (now ex) hubby was not stolen. Though I would have been better off, perhaps, had he been.
Amanda - I think I will be investing in insurance for any future bikes. I wonder if I can put some sort of trap on the seat that chops things off if you sit on it with out disarming it.
Hope the poker is going well in Alaska.
Oh Louche, I MISSED the poker. Our hosts – in a rare blindspot moment – dumped us off at a mall. A colleague and I did the only sensible thing and retired to the faux-Irish bar. By the time we emerged, having botched the meeting time, the Hold 'Em championship had commenced AND, as further punishment, we could no longer wrangle costumes for the Miners and Trappers' Ball.
Moral: malls are bad, BAD, I say.
Otherwise Alaska is great fun.
Amanda - That sounds like quite a jolly evening to me. Faux-Irish bars can always be relied on for the start of an adventure.
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