Seeing this bike made me want to exclaim, "Dear God! Tell me, who did this to you!" and give it a hug.
And it got worse:
I mean really, who does this to a bike? How angry do you have to be?
Still, I thought maybe it's a little bit nuts to have the thought "Awww, poor bike", as you walk by an inanimate object.
Turns out I may not be so crazy after all. While securing my beloved Brompton outside a cafe this week, two women walked right up to me to advise me to lock it very carefully, even pointing out what they thought might be the best place to lock it. Turns out one of them had her bike stolen just weeks before. She talked about how mad it made her. I commiserated, having had one stolen and another vandalized. We agreed, when someone steals your bike: it's personal.
Then I had breakfast this morning with a couple from Montreal, and the man told the story of going by a bike that had been left on its side, and how he could not keep himself from going to set it right. Turns out, he works for Opus, a relatively new bicycle manufacturing company. Check out their line. It also turns out, he's a pretty big deal. Go back to that Opus page, scroll down and meet Stephane LeBeau, repeat World Master Track Champion. And super nice guy.
Once again, I stumble into interesting people who have a shared interest who just happen to be really cool people. Bikes and biking: sometimes it really is personal.
I had a bike stolen a couple of years ago at a metro station. For the first time I knew what it meant to feel 'violated.' I was surprised at my emotional response to the loss. I felt a much more profound grief from the bike theft than I did when my car was totaled a month and a half later. Don't get me wrong; this still isn't the kind of grief one feels at the loss of a person, but I do think we can build a bond with our bikes.
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