When the Steal is Real

The stark realization washed over me as my SPD cleats clip clopped along with an almost sad trombone soundtrack of dejection. Cell phones and Uber may have straight changed the game, but back in the day, I can assure you, the walk of shame was all too real.

This time, however, I wasn’t portaging a crumpled bike. I didn’t have my bike at all because it was stolen. I get it, countless bikes are nicked every day. It happens to the best of us. But not me. I never left my cherished bike alone for too long and always in an area bustling with life. Cautiously optimistic that my preventative measures were enough to beat the odds.

On this fateful Saturday morning, much like any Vegas visit, the odds caught up with me. I was picking up art supplies for my daughter at a very busy strip mall near my home in West Los Angeles. I secured my trusty steed to a rather formidable city bike rack. But there was one weak link, so to speak. It appeared as if my Kryptonite was my kryptonite. My, ahem, trusted vintage cable lock featured a cylindrical keyway, which, unbeknownst to me, could be easily breached with a common Bic pen. I was only gone for a few minutes, but that’s all it took for my bike to be gone too. I couldn’t bring myself to find a ride, preferring to walk home forlornly with my sad bag of pipe cleaners and googly eyes in tow.

MAGE:12077 This bike was special to me, a 62cm Land Shark Road Shark, custom made by John Slawta himself to my specs and riding style. Adorned with Dura-Ace’s 7400 Series group set, the first of the 8-speed STI groups and the last of the down tube shifters (pre-Dual Control Levers). I raced it all over the western United States in the early nineties, from crits to stage races, the occasional Solvang century and even some time trials and triathlons (with the era specific Zipp carbon discs and Scott clip-ons, natch). In 32 years of stewardship, the level of intensity with which I rode it was only matched by my devoted care and service. The early 90’s orange tear livery and Prestige tubing may have been showing their age, but that only made me love it more. Fun fact: while I’d never sell mine, it’s great to see others selling their Land Sharks on BikeList.

Once home, I drafted a quick social post hoping against all hope that my bike would be recovered, and the offending scoundrels given a sound thrashing before being placed behind bars with far better locks than mine. I even incentivized the post with a $1000 cash reward, because money was no object - the object that was the object.

My work colleagues dutifully shared my Missing Shark post, but the social bounce wasn’t enough to buoy my spirits. It should have been though, because, at the time, I was a creative director at one of the world’s most influential automotive media brands, replete with millions of loyal followers. Three weeks later, the improbable happened. Someone slid into my dm’s with a pic of my bike. The message read simply, “Is this your bike? If so, I have it. Call me.”

When I arrived in East LA, there stood my savior curbside, with my beloved Shark. It was a bit worse for wear, the old Mavic clinchers a bit out of true, but it was intact, in all its patina’d glory. He didn’t know me, didn’t know where I worked and wasn’t even aware of the reward. Turns out one of my well-connected, well-followed colleagues shared my original IG Story, which in turn was shared by a guy in the auto industry, who was also into bikes. That post was seen and shared by an influential bike shop in Pasadena. If that isn’t enough, the story of the theft recovery is even more outlandish.

My guardian angel is a battle-hardened, bike messenger in Downtown LA. On a particularly hot day, he stopped at a 7/11 for a refreshing beverage and noticed a rather unique bike (my bike!) tossed clumsily across the curb in front of the store, His first thought was that this was far too nice a bike to leave unlocked and unattended on the mean streets of DTLA.

Once inside the store, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen this bike somewhere before. As he waited to pay, my hero texted friends in the bike community asking about my very old, very orange Land Shark. In front of him, a very diminutive, very disheveled man was buying a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. As he followed Mr. Chunky Monkey out of the store someone managed to track down the original post and forwarded it to my own personal street justice vigilante. When Mr. Cherry Garcia picked up my bike and began walking, it was easy to see this wasn’t his bike, he being far too short to comfortably swing a leg over a square 62.

A quick text was all it took for my champion to receive back up from a fellow bike messenger. They followed Mr. Chubby Hubby as he pushed my bike and scooped out ice cream with his grubby, sticky fingers, becoming concerned that the two dudes following him were aiming to steal his stolen bike.

Mr. Gimme S’more began walking faster and scurried into an open-air mall with my heroes in tow. They knew he was suspicious and just as they were about to make their move, they were intercepted by a very observant security guard, who asked if he could “help them with something” in a tone that let them know he knew they were up to something. They responded with, “That guy stole our friend’s bike and we’re trying to get it back.” The security guard looked them over and then looked at Mr. Dublin Mudslide and replied, “Want me to hold your bikes?”

At this point, Mr. Half Baked knew he was a marked man and he responded by throwing his pint of B&J at his pursuers, before throwing down my bike and pulling out a box cutter. My new besties recovered the bike and they did not back down even when it appeared they brought a sticky ice cream slathered Road Shark to a knife fight. Faced with their steely resolve, Mr. New York Super Fudge Chunk sheathed his blade, turned, and scurried away.

When I gave him the $1000 my bike bounty hunter said he would share it with his friends. It appears mine isn’t the only bike these guys recovered. Makes me feel good to know I helped them continue doing God’s work. What feels less good was the top tube crack inflicted only months later. At least she went out on her own terms, now resigned to a place of status on my wall as a teleconference conversation starter.

I’ve since replaced my Road Shark with an Ibis Hakka MX carbon gravel bike that I secure with not one, but two industrial strength Abus jammers. Quite the leap ahead, but that’s another story for another post.

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