Sucks to Be My Bike Thief

As I was walking to the vanpool pickup stop yesterday afternoon, I looked from a distance at the bike parking area underneath the building to see if my bike was still there. I keep a bike at the office for the occasional errand I run at lunch time (doctor's appointments, shopping for gifts for the family). I had just ridden it last week at lunch to pick up flowers and Moonstruck chocolates for Meg, so I remember where I had parked it last. But I didn't see it. The van had just arrived, so I couldn't stop and investigate further. So this morning when I arrived at the office, I took a closer look at the crime scene. Sure enough, my bike--and my lock--were gone. I thought this might happen someday, given the open and unsecured setting of the bike storage area. I'm almost glad that somebody stole it, because it is now their problem. It was truly a made-in-China-Department-store-heavy-piece-of-junk; the brake cables were giving out, and the gears had a tendency to slip, making for unexpected and unwanted up and down-shifting. Now I'm really glad I didn't bring my Japanese road bike to use as my Portland errand bike, even though I paid only $5 for it (it is a nice bike for cruising around the neighborhood or long rides on Saturday). I suppose I got my money out of it, but it kind of stinks because I have an eye exam today (the Doctor's office is in the Pearl District), so I'll need to take the bus and walk back to the office. Back to looking at craigslist for ultra-cheapo bikes . . .

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