THURSDAY, 3 AUGUST: I don't like bicycle U-locks
for a lot of reasons. So shortly after I rode the ATB
across the Hudson from Jersey City I replaced the
one that came with the bike with a chain and padlock
the hardware store guy claimed can't be cut with a
bolt-breaker–requires some kind of hydraulic tool.
I didn't get that in writing.
The lock's tumblers sometimes interfere with the key,
I learned when I tried to pick it one morning. I'd
had a bad 24 hours, thinking someone had jammed it.
The Seventh Avenue South locksmith gave me a $95
estimate to liberate it and advised abandoning the bike.
Carmine Street refused the job without irrefutable
proof of ownership (a blog posting that details its
purchase? I don't think so). The locksmith I liked
disappeared along with the single-story tax-payer
(ex-dry cleaner, ex-insurance office) where he
did business. Now the site's a vacant lot no doubt
awaiting the hugest, ugliest luxury apartment
bldg some speculator can squeeze out of the city.
A quarter the price of a Kryptonite chain set,
my chain and lock are only slightly lighter–way
too heavy for me to wrangle easily. Poking around
discount stores for something to adapt as a chain caddy
I found a cylindrical insulated single water-bottle
carrier with nylon shoulder strap/handle. Wrapped
the strap and used nylon ties to suspend it between
the mixte bars near the stem. Zips open but I thread
the chain through the hole in the top meant for a
bottleneck. Not pretty, but works as if designed
for the purpose. Bike boutiques should stock 'em.
A girl's blue 10-speed whose owner doesn't know
how to wrap its light cable lock was first attached
in maybe fall 2004 to the no-parking signpost in
front of my house. Never ridden after. The bike
inevitably got skewed into the gutter and something
rolled over the rear wheel and fender. When set upright
again, a green ATB was U-locked to it and the signpost.
There they squatted, unused, from sometime in winter
or early spring 2005 till recently. Neighbors assumed
them to be abandoned, and an eyesore.
They suddenly vanished about a month ago. Albert
believed Sanitation had confiscated them. After
a few days they reappeared. The warped wheel
had been replaced, the fender pounded back into
shape. They were locked same as before, but now
to my preferred no-parking signpost across the
street. Grrr. They monopolized it for a week or so.
Then the 10-speed gained a front basket and homed
back to the signpost outside my front door where
it had been for at least a year and a half and has
been since. Unridden. A loose medium-strength chain,
garlanded through the basket, now supplements the
loose cable.
Yesss! The green ATB was U-locked to the
gutter side of its–my favored–signpost. Never
ridden. Our ATBs were a nice fit, so it's been
easy for me to come and go from the sidewalk
side of the signpost for the past few weeks.
That happens to be the signpost where my three-speed
was stolen, but I've been feeling pretty confident
of my new chain and lock.
Turns out I've had good reason–and better reason
than I'd known to dislike U-locks.
I'd been out and about the nabe today till a little
after noon I needed to do maybe an hour's worth of
stuff at home. I chain the ATB to what's again become
my usual signpost. My chain is not loose;
I have to take a little extra time not to intertwine
it with green ATB's U-lock. Stuff done, I walk
downstairs, cross the street. My bike's where I left
it. Its recent companion is gone. I naturally assume
the owner has finally taken the green ATB for a spin.
I look farther down the signpost. This sunny early
afternoon, on a heavily-trafficked sidewalk, in the
minutes I was upstairs a thief reached around my ATB,
worked past my chain, twisted the U-lock, and presumably
rode off on the green ATB. Can't believe how
vulnerable that U-lock was. I thought they used Bic
pens these days. That guy used muscle. Albert walked
across the street to look. Crowbar, he said.
Amazing the thief did no damage to my bike. He did
take, if you can believe, the half-drunk lemon-lime
soda I'd left in my bike's bottle carrier–not the
chain caddy. But he took time to unzip the chain
caddy: What the hell did he expect? A few rolled-up
$100s? Orange soda? Duh. More chain.
I'd assumed my three-speed was stolen after dark
the Thursday I last saw it; now I know it might well
have been taken in the bright light of the Friday
morning I found it gone.
Of the few spots where cyclists can lock up nearby,
that signpost is the shadiest and least disruptive
of foot traffic. But now its karma is so wretched
I guess I must abandon it. A cute kinda
color-coordinated bell also came with my bike. It
too went missing, same spot–second bell pilfered
this summer. I was thrilled to find a replacement
so unobtrusive, attached upside-down it fades
visually into the gear apparatus. So far, so good.
Maybe a day will come I can install the cute "bell
pepper" I got first. I doubt it.
It's been one mean summer for bikes. If that's not
an NYC crime-rate bellwether (so to speak) I'll be
very surprised.
FRIDAY, 4 AUGUST: Oh, this is simply too weird.
I just found the stolen ATB.
This feat required detective work no more remarkable
than walking two blocks to my fave 99-cent taco joint.
(In the present immigration climate I should note
that if you're a New Yorker who patronizes those
places, you already know you will never encounter
a Mexican-American on either side of the counter.)
There was the ATB, unchanged in any cosmetic way, locked
with another bike, ready for the next delivery. Having
studied it closely with larceny in my heart during
the week and a half I was bikeless, thinking it
abandoned for better than a year and a half (I got a
Bic, googled Kryptonite-picking instructions), and after
looking at it close-up so often lately while taking
care locking and unlocking mine not to disturb it,
seeing it so unexpectedly dropped my jaw with the shock
of recognition. I've no shred of doubt. It is what it is.
This is chutzpah of a monumental order. I didn't
want to get into this yesterday, but the afternoon
the 10-speed and ATB were locked to "my"
signpost I'm pretty sure I saw a young couple do
that, then cross the street to enter a tenement a
couple of doors west of mine. Since I didn't realize
they were parking those bikes I just watched
casually. So I'm only fairly–not absolutely–sure.
Whatever, that ATB belongs to somebody who
lives nearby. And most people who live nearby pass
that taco joint all the time. You must walk past,
e.g., to get to Film Forum or the closest uptown
subway station.
So what am I going to do? Not a damned thing except
go back with camera in daylight, I hope while the
bike is unchanged cosmetically.
Call the cops? I witnessed nothing. I don't own the
bike, don't know the owner's name, wouldn't recognize
him even if he were the guy I observed the day of the
return.. I can't prove it's the same bike. I'd
consider me a crank. Post a notice in the vestibule of
the building that guy entered?
I could do that. But I'm more kindly disposed toward
the taco folks. They work hard and over time literally
may have saved my life with cheap nutritious fast food.
When we passed on the street once, the owner greeted me,
"Black bean taco," as friendly a greeting as
any, I guess. He shares the distinction with several
counterparts around here of knowing my order without
asking. What's the not-quite-abandoned-bike guy ever
done for me–or the neighborhood?
I must add, I thought momentarily I'd spotted my
stolen three-speed, of course stripped of its
eccentric accessories, parked with other delivery
bikes outside an even closer greasy-spoon a few
weeks ago. I didn't examine it, supposing I was
over-sensitized and paranoid and that the idea was
preposterous; ironically, I know the green ATB better
visually than my own three-speed. (Its virtues were
practical, not aesthetic. Remember, I'd never even
memorized the manufacturer's no-name. )
Now I'm not so sure. Those dudes ride on sidewalks
recklessly, even lethally, and break into locked
buildings every day to distribute unwanted menus;
why shouldn't they be suspected of other
petty crime? The fake-papers industry probably has
a division that sells "proof" of bike ownership
that would satisfy the Carmine Street locksmith. But
the taco joint doesn't break in and slide menus under
doors (occasionally smails them), nor does the greasy-spoon
where I may or may not have spotted my bike (they
too know my order without asking).
What's so audacious about the green ATB being two
blocks south is, well, I'd've expected them at least
to trade bikes with a like operation in some other
part of town. But guess what? Parked now where I
thought I spotted my stolen no-name girl's three-speed
is a Raleigh girl's three-speed. Setting up the
transaction must take a few days. Most of those guys
are probably illegal (both joints pre-date NYC D.H.S.
hq, on the opposite corner). Especially in the present
climate, keeping those bikes for any time near
where they were stolen isn't just inyerface, it's suicidal.
SATURDAY, 5 AUGUST: Returned with Canon to
taco joint. ATB unaltered but now buried in a tangle
of bikes. Shot them anyway, also (dunno why) the
bike (unknown to me) now secured to the bad-karma
signpost. Wonder if she saw the twisted U-lock. Glad
I shot it yesterday. Someone's removed it. Why would
anyone do that? It was a warning more startling than
words about that spot. Oh. The ATB owner finally
noticed his bike's gone and wanted a souvenir?
Heck. Notwithstanding the delivery guys' immigration
status, maybe I should snitch before the trade
occurs, at least post a notice in that dude's building
pointing to this posting. Remember when they used to
define a conservative as a liberal who'd been mugged?
Bikewise, my Nancy Drew moment did it for me–when the
light flashed about that Raleigh's likely significance.
Kindly disposed as I am toward those guys, all the bike
grief and wasted time have made my summer miserable.
More of this friggin' anxiety on top of the Hudson River
Park Trust's hostility toward cyclists I don't need.
(Too late to post this today, alas. And sorry the snaps
aren't snappier; I haven't installed Photoshop in this
notebook yet. Happy birthday, Alberta Malfregeot,
wherever you may be.)
28 June 2007: The outcome of this incident was so
cosmically satisfying, thanks to the green ATB owner's
ingenuity, it compensates for a lot of cosmic injustice.
The green ATB disappeared from the taco joint immediately
after I (unintentionally) too conspicuously took its picture.
I left a Post-It in the lobby of the bldg I saw the young couple enter, saying in effect, "Green ATB stolen? See this blog." M., the ATB owner, emailed me immediately and we met on the street. His wife, N., owns the other bike we all had assumed was abandoned but wasn't. I showed N. how to lock a bike properly.
Astonishingly, M.'s ATB reappeared two or three weeks
later, chained to a parking meter post in front of the
same taco joint. All the more amazing since M. and N.
had tried unsuccessfully to persuade the taco joint
dude to give it back. Dude was deaf even to N.'s
irrefutable logic that you just don't do such things
to your neighbors–they're your customers. The cops
were impotent since M. couldn't prove his ATB–bought
used–was his own.
(Let that be a lesson, kiddies. A production frame,
e.g., has a unique number stamped into the metal.
Copy it and keep it some memorable place, especially
if you don't have a receipt. And it's not just the
cops. Remember what I wrote above? When I
thought–erroneously–that my padlock was
jammed, one locksmith refused to break it if
I couldn't prove ownership.)
I hastened to notify M. of the new sighting. A day or two
later, just as I gleefully spotted his green ATB chained
to a traffic sign around the corner on Hudson Street,
obviously liberated, M. and N. happened by. They filled
me in:
M. had seen the ATB chained to the parking meter at
about the same time I did, and executed a breathtaking
street-guerrilla move: He bought a $100 chain and lock
and added them to the similar chain already tethering
his ATB to the post. M. advised taco dude that if he
removed his chain that would be the end of the matter.
After a day or two taco dude caved. Nearly a year later,
I still just can't believe how fiendishly clever M.'s
tactic was.
Damned shame about that traffic signpost across the
street where M. and I each had a bike stolen. The spot's
as sweet as ever–convenient, shady, out of the way
of pedestrians–but it spooks me, and I guess M., too.
Even with stronger locks, neither of us has braved it
again since his green ATB disappeared from there.
Wednesday, 4 July 2007
