The Bike Is Not There

The bike is only a memory 

memoir by

Gregory E. Larson

“The bike is not there,” I said as we walked out of the Brick Café at 1727 McGee St. last Saturday morning in the crossroads district of Kansas City.

“What?” cried my cycling friends. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” I replied, “It’s not there. It’s gone,” I knew immediately that it had been stolen. Everyone else’s bike was still locked to the fence at the parking lot or to a bike rack. Mine was the only one that was gone. To a cyclist, losing a bike is very personal. It is like losing a body part.

“I’ve got other bikes, but that was my best. It was my 'Porsche',” I shared with the others.

“What are you going to do? How are you going to get home?”

“I’ll call an Uber. I’ll probably have to file a police report, as if that will solve anything.”

All of the bikes had been locked to the fence or racks. Someone had cut the small wire cable on my combination lock. They probably hoisted it into a pick-up and drove into the alley, out of sight.

The other cyclists were so kind to wait until the Uber car arrived. I was in a daze, and got into the car, with a feeling of profound loss. I always knew the wire cable was only a deterrent to someone that just wanted to grab a loose bike. If any thief wanted it, they would have to be intent on cutting the cable. I took that chance for fifteen years, and the odds finally caught up with me. Hundreds of times I’ve left it outside coffee shops, restaurants, and art galleries. I always locked it if it wasn’t visible from inside.

I purchased the Trek carbon-fiber Madone model in 2009. It was the lightest weight production bike in the world when it was introduced. When I rode on mine, it fit like a glove. It was so light that most hills were just a mere nuisance. There were so many memories on that bike, good ones and bad ones. The good memories - countless rides to coffee and breakfast, and to brew-pubs for a beer and some lunch – far outweigh the bad memories. Our group, the Riff-Raff, are a close-knit bunch of riders that are safety conscious and caring. The discussions at our stops span the spectrum from educational to raucous banter.

I have only two really bad memories on that bike. Around 2010, I shredded a rear tire when I put on the brakes to prevent hitting an oncoming car that turned left in front of me. Last year, I accidentally thought a curb was a curb-cut (ramp). The bike and the curb faired much better than me, but I was back in the saddle soon after the accident.

In our lives, sometimes a door closes on us and another door opens. That’s how it feels to me as I look for a new bike. What I lost was priceless. That bike kept me in good health and made me feel a part of the backstreets across the metro. The sunshine, fresh air, sounds of the city, and the comraderies all keep us coming back to bicycle a new adventure each day.

To the thief or thieves, their gain will ultimately become a greater loss through poor choices as they go through life.

For me, I choose freedom of mind, body and soul. Pedaling is a major contributor to that outlook.

 Pedal on,

GREG