i was laying in my hammock last night, thinking over the day’s events, thinking about whats to come this week while intermittently daydreaming about a really cute girl i met over the weekend…mazzy star’s “blue light” was streaming from my ipod and into the hi-fi…fireflies hovered over the front yard…the stars were out, the moon was bright, the christmas lights i have strung around my porch were twinkling…i had a big glass of apple juice in hand…and then, the serendipity was broken by a sound that was remotely familiar…the sound of stripped, wrenched bicycle gears…you know the sound…the snapping clackety-clack of the sprocket and gears when the chain gets stuck somewhere inbetween. the sound grew louder, a faint silhouette became clearer, and the rider made his way down the sidewalk in front of my house. and then, in a moment, i knew. i knew that was the bastard who stole my roadbike. and there he was, audaciously riding MY bicycle in front of MY house and loudly destroying MY gears. i reared up out of the hammock. well, i tried to rear up out of the hammock. its a tough thing to do, especially with a beverage in hand, and usually it requires a few tries with a fair amount of momentum to finally get my fat ass up and out. and, as soon as i did manage to climb out the old guy had moved on down the street, still clacking and churning.
you know, if you were gonna steal a bike, you think you’d maybe get one you knew how to ride. this guys got no clue, but he’s got balls, ill say that. the first time i saw him was over on 1st avenue, on the big hill. he was coming down as i was going up. i was riding my vintage cruiser. as i passed by, i looked over at him and then immediately screamed, “hey! thats my bike! you stole my bike!” and the old man actually stopped and turned around to talk to me. now, the last time i checked the thief’s manual to successful thievery it said that, and i quote, “when accused of stealing one should flee the scene.” instead, this guy took the “i’m po’ n old” route. he said, “mmmmaaannnn, i is fiddyfee year old. i aint stole no bike.” i replied, “no man, thats my bike. youre the bastard that stole my bike, right off my front porch.” he was quick in his reply. he said, “man, if this is yo’ bike, then who’s bike you ridin’ there?” arg. he got me. the tried and true robin hood tactic. works every time. yeah, im priviledged and have two bikes. and granted, he did look pretty pitiful. i guess that why my clinched fist never popped the old bastard in the mouth or why i didnt try to wrestle the bike from his thieving clutches. and who am i kidding…me, hitting a guy? and a fiddyfee year ol black man, no less? while that goes against my alabama upbringing, i just couldnt do it. and so, ill just keep my eyes out for the fellow as he rides MY bike in front of MY house in MY neighborhood and hope that he learns how to change the gears before he destroys MY bike and has to go off and steal another one. the next time i scream at him itll be to tell him to change the friggin gears and put some oil on the chain.
