Anybody seen an abandoned black-frame mountain bike around town? If so, call the Brookfield Police, at 485-8131 to report it.
Yes, it was mine. Was. That sounds so final. I rode it to work at the Westchester Jewel on Saturday, Feb. 19, and home again, to my apartment building at 4005 DuBois Blvd. at 7:30 p.m.
I brought it down the six steps to the basement, put it into its usual spot – and never saw it again.
At 2:30 p.m., the next afternoon, I took out some recyclables while it rained. The bike was gone. Just like that.
“Why?” I ask over and over again. “Why?” It wasn’t a great bike, nowhere near new, just a clunker that got me from Point A to Point B. The brakes were starting to scrape the wheel rims, and a few spokes needed work. That was an impending project.
A small wire basket, on the front, wasn’t new, either. The chrome fenders showed a few rust spots. There was nothing attractive about the bike at all.
It was a compilation of parts, really, put together for me by a Willow Springs bike rebuilder. Created completely of used parts, but eminently rideable. It had an odd name on the frame that I hadn’t heard of before, and, unfortunately, I can’t recall. Who looks at bike frames all the time?
I looked around the neighborhood, on the off chance that it had been abandoned after a more careful inspection by the thief. I had no luck.
Then I called the Brookfield Police Department, and Officer Kudla came by. I filled out a report, describing the bike, and gave a photo to attach to the report.
I don’t know what the thief will do with the bike. Tear it down for parts? All the parts were already old.
In fact, when I was ready to leave Westchester for home, I noticed the front tire was a little flat, like air was slowly leaking out somewhere. Whenever I’m out – was out – on my bike, I carried a small tire pump in a plastic bag, and I pumped up the tire and headed for home without any trouble. The tire was still firm when I last saw it.
But now all that is the thief’s problem. Sorry. Not. You’ll need to get a new tube, have brake work done, and oh, good luck in getting off that green-covered wire rope and lock that was wound around, under the seat.
This was the first time this year that I’d taken the bike out to work and back. And the last time. Now I must find other means of transportation.
Back in 1986 I had a bike stolen, too, my “silver steed,” all chrome polished that glinted in the sun like a knight’s freshly polished shining armor. This was outside the old Brookfield Public Library building. I swear I locked it up.
But it seems that now bikes aren’t safe anywhere, even in a basement. I don’t want this to happen to anyone, again, so I’m just saying, lock your bike, wherever it is. Keep an eye on it. If it’s rideable, it’s valuable. And it wouldn’t hurt to take a few photos of it, either … just in case.
So if you see an abandoned black mountain bike, with an odd name on its frame, and it looks like it’s searching, searching for its owner, give the police a call. I’d only had it a few years, but now I miss it. Thanks.