I have a bike. His name is Sea Biscuit. He is stunning, absolutely stunning. His yellow body and white new basket (after replacing the old broken black one) compliment his sleek beach cruiser figure. I’ve been in love with him since the day we brought him home, almost 3 years ago.
About two years ago, we had just moved in together in our old apartment in Santa Monica, there was a break-in down in our garage. It was awful. They cut our bike lock and stole both Mike’s bike and the neighbors’ as well. But they left Sea Biscuit behind. Obviously I was extremely grateful and relieved (Mike not-so-much).
Several months after the aforementioned travesty, we rode bikes with our friends down to the promenade area to enjoy a beautiful Friday night. We locked our bikes up along Ocean Avenue (a bustling street) and skipped across the road to cocktail hour. We went back to our bikes to gather them for the ride to dinner and were horrified to see that Mike’s bike had been stolen, again! They cut our lock (a big one this time!) and stole his bike… leaving Sea Biscuit unlocked, alone and unscathed. I couldn’t believe it, now I was just plain offended! Who doesn’t want my bike!? It’s a good bike! He’s attractive and he offers a smooth ride and he has a nice basket! W-t-heck?
So yesterday I took my stallion for a ride to the local grocery store. Meanwhile Mike’s bike was secured in our rack on the jeep. After I returned I left Biscuit in our garage spot, saddled up next to our cars. I didn’t lock him, I’m not sure why, the thought occurred to me but I just shrugged it off as we had seen zero security threats thus far in our condo. The next morning, THIS morning, before leaving for work I yelled to Mike to help me take off the bike rack so I didn’t have to drag it around town. He headed down to the garage first. When I met him I saw a cold distant look in his eyes… he lowered his head and said the words I never thought I’d hear;
“Someone stole your bike.
I’m sorry babe, Sea Biscuit is gone.”
And that’s when both of us began to pace the garage in disbelief. My heart sunk. How could this happen? We had made it through so many other potential thefts. He was a fighter. Mike walked a little farther left than I did and stopped in his tracks,
“No way. NO WAY!.”
Me- “what!? WHAT?”
“He’s right there! Oh my gosh, he’s seriously sitting right up there! They couldn’t lift him over the gate! Idiots! They must have heard a noise or got scared or it might be the fact that he’s really really heavy.”
And sure enough, there he was. They had even left him nicely propped up on his kickstand! I ran to him and carried him back down the stairs and over to the garage spot. It was a miracle.
We made sure to lock him up safely.