The curious incident of the bike in the cage
My bike in happier days. And no, I don’t have a picture of the whole bike.
Now, I’ve written about my bike before. I’ve mentioned that it’s not the most high tech, not the most glamorous bike in the world. It allows me to go where the bus won’t take me, but it’s not the kind of bike any one would bother to steal. Or so I thought…
When I moved into the new place, it came with a security cage downstairs. Well, actually security cage is possibly not the most appropriate name, some one has cut the bars at the front, leaving a big square window. I wouldn’t keep anything too valuable down there, but I did think my bike would be safe. It would be a fair effort to lift the bike up and through the hole, and I just didn’t think my bike was really worth the trouble.
My bike and I went to work each day, and each night I’d lock the bike in the cage and go upstairs. Then one day, the Heather St Hill seemed to have suddenly got even more difficult. (I usually resemble a tomato by the time I get to work, so any extra difficulty has me verging on cardiovascular collapse). Going home that night, even the flat bits were hard. Now I hadn’t had a particularly exhausting day at work so I concluded it must be the bike. It appeared that the brake on the back wheel had jammed. After squeezing the brake quickly several times, then kicking the tyre, my vast reserves of mechanical knowledge and skill were exhausted. Surprisingly, neither of these tricky manouvres fixed the problem. I tucked the bike back in the cage and resolved to take it for a service.
That was two weeks ago. My sisters have been staying and we’ve been roadtripping with the hire car so I do have an excuse for my procrastination. But sadly, they are now back in Australia, and I am back at work, so I thought it was time to sort out the brake business. I trundled downstairs and what did I see? There was my bike, sitting outside the cage.
At least, I think it’s my bike. It’s red and white and kind of scratched, just like mine. The seat is much higher than it was, but I suppose, if you were going to steal it, you might try and adjust that. When I tried to wheel it, the back brake still seems jammed, so maybe that’s why they didn’t get far with it. It looks as if it might have been in an accident because the cover of one of the gears has come off, and the front light holder is missing. But the handles feel funny, the black foam seems a bit more crumbly than it used to be. And it has a bell, which I’m sure I didn’t used to have!
So now I have a dilemma. I’ve put the bike back into the cage, but I’m just not sure. Is it my bike? I think it’s my bike. But if it is my bike, that means some one has stolen it , crashed it, then added a bell and returned it. Canadians are polite but I think that’s going a bit far. If it isn’t my bike, and I’ve just locked it into my security cage, then I’m the bike thief. Please, can someone resolve this?
Tags: Canada, Expat life
