THE BIKE THIEF Chapter 1: It’s Always Sunny in Chicago Alleys

I think it’s safe to say that *serious* bike thievery is on the rise.  Over a dozen reports of sawed u-locks on the stolen bike register in the last month.  Wheels stolen right out from under us pub-crawling. Vigilante groups organized to comb the swap meets. 

What should, can and will be done?

Truthfully, I don’t know.  But gather around kids and I shall entertain and delight you with a true tale of high adventure and daring-do, featuring violent thugs, vigilante justice, beautiful maidens, keystone cops and courtroom dramas.

‘Twas a sunny Sunday in early March, perhaps the first in our unseasonable warmth. I was making my rounds delivering  the latest issue of Momentum Magazine, cycling south down Damen Av.

Approaching the 1000 N. block I observed a curious man on the sidewalk, hunched over a bicycle with telltale sparks a-flying.  I did not to leap to conclusions, hoping, expecting even, that I should recognize one of the wrenches in the employ of Rapid Transit or some other such bicycle retailer, legitimately disabling a seized lock.

No such luck.  The Bike Thief, as I would affectionately come to call him, was using a cordless angle grinder, poorly concealed in a plastic Aldi bag, to slice through u-lock securing a bike to a signpost.  It could not have looked shadier if he were standing under a mighty oak.

I coolly passed by but immediately pulled into the next mid-block alley and frantically dialed 9-1-1, giving a detailed perp description, a location and a warning to the authorities make haste.  Returning to the street, I tucked behind the row of park cars where I had a visual on the bike thief.  I worried he might spy me, but he was head down, hoodie up and all business.

It was perhaps 1pm and with the warm(er) weather, the sidewalk was bustling. Joggers, dog walkers, couples with strollers, hipsters.  All passed by the noisy shower of sparks without taking notice, except to cover their non-cell phone ear.  The only time I took my eyes off of the thief was to glare at these passersby in disbelief.  Hell, even a few cyclists rode by, oblivious (or pretending to be).

Suddenly, the worst.  The broken lock clattered to the ground! The bike was free!  No constables in sight!  Without delay the thief threw a leg over and began to roll off.

There was no time for further considerations; it was only I who stood between justice and heartache.

I quickly closed the gap between us in time to see the thief turn into the alley parallel Damen.  I followed as he turned again down the next alley, unaware, slowly tottering along, obviously out of practice.  It was the slowest chase since the Juice was loose.

“HIYA DOIN’?!” I exclaimed in a loud, friendly voice as I overtook him.  I tucked in tight along side him, nearly rubbing shoulders.  Without any further conversation, I braced my foot solidly against the
crown of his fork and gave a good, hard shove.

(I should probably disclose that my electric-assist longtail cargo bike weighs in at roughly 100lbs, was carrying a 100 lbs payload and measures over 7 feet long.  It was like launching an attack from an aircraft carrier.)

The Bike Thief began to wobble, then sway, then weave, then swerve violently side to side.  The weight of the heavy power-tool hanging from his handlebars was not helping his
situation.  He ran upon a thick patch of ice and clipped a trashcan at which point the bike flew out from beneath him and he went sprawling backwards.  In short, the takedown could not have gone more perfectly. 

I leisurely dismounted my ride and approached the Bike Thief, who was struggling like a turtle on his back.  “DON’T GET UP!  STAY ON THE GROUND!” I bellowed while standing over him, emulating this one COPS episode.  The Bike Thief managed to rise to his feet, a blank look on his face.

I continued with what is perhaps the most concise statement I have ever shouted: “I SAW YOU STEAL THIS BIKE, I’VE CALLED THE POLICE, WE’RE GOING TO WAIT RIGHT HERE FOR THEM!”  Not bad considering that my heart was wedged inside my throat.

Of course there were the matters of *how* the police were going to find us, or what we find to might talk about in the interim, but these would quickly become irrelevant.  As the Bike Thief half-circled round me, it became apparent he was mulling over his options and leaving his easily-earned new bike was looking low on the list.

He was not a large man, the Bike Thief, roughly my same height (5’ 10”) but significantly stouter and 30 lbs heavier.  He looked fairly seasoned and his silence throughout the episode was unnerving.  “Boy”
I thought, “I wouldn’t want to run into him in an alley.”

Finally, the Bike Thief reached into his coat pocket and took a step towards me.

“TAKE YOUR HAND OUT OF YOUR POCKET AND DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!!”  I shouted, anger edging into my voice.  

He paused, but reached further into his pocket. 

Well kids, it’s late and that’s all the time we have.  Tune in next week for THE BIKE THIEF Chapter 2: The Bike Thief Strikes Back.  Who knows?  I very well may be killed.

UPDATE: http://www.thechainlink.org/forum/topics/the-bike-thief-chapter-2-the