bARTknows

Today, I stole my bike back from a guy on the street.

In July of 2006, I had the emasculating experience of being robbed. No, not me the person, me my whole house. The clown that robbed me came in through a window and cleaned out all my precious electronics. Except for my electric toothbrush, my dancing Coke™ can, and a genuine Casio™ keyboard, I came home to a busted window and open front door.

Oh, and the clown also rode away on my customized Cannondale racing bike, which by any other circumstance, I would chain to my oven when I travelled for extended periods.

I had only gone camping one night, and the police said that because I was robbed at 9am on a Sunday [the neighbor heard noise and thought I was washing clothes], someone was tracking me. Great! Needless to say I moved shortly after.

I digress. The bike loss is what hit me hardest. I never thought I'd see it again. Deep down inside, though, a man's hope fuels his will to go on.

Today, on my way back from picking up DC's lunch staple (a $4 two-half-smoke-chip-drink combo) from a street vendor, I saw it. Gliding along the opposite side of K St [6 lanes]. Two of my coworkers were walking with me when I froze in my tracks-the dual disc brakes, the white Race-Face cranks, the wood veneer derailleur-staring at my stolen bike gliding, I said "That's my bike."

Without hesitation, without looking both ways, I started my sprint. Don't drop the half smokes...don't yell...don't let him see you...run...run...run...get him!!

One block goes by...then another...and another. It was looking grim. On foot, I watched as he gained on me without seeing me. Then, a light. He slows, taking a right turn. I break right through a lunch crowd, panting as I plan my path of convergence. My phone already dialing out the familiar 9-1-1.

I slip into his shadow and give it one last push. Grabbing the seat, I see the omitted model number on the bright blue frame. It's definitely my bike! I yank the bike back to a complete stop. Without batting an eyelash I ask him where he got the bike. Then I point out every detail that he replaced on the bike from its original parts setup.

He looks at me and says, "Shit. This is your bike." Damn right it is.

The police dispatcher says a unit will arrive momentarily. I turn to him, "I need a cop here to witness the deal I am about to make with you."

"And what's that..?" He asks.

The police arrive moments later. "Officer, this is my bike, stolen from me in July out of my home. I don't want any trouble to come to this man, he is only a bike messenger who bought the bike off a guy in a park for $150 a few weeks ago. He's put a new front wheel, handlebars, and pedals on this thing. I need you to witness that I am going to take this bike back to my home on the condition that I return the parts I just mentioned to this man tomorrow."

The cop asks, "Is this his bike?"

"Yes. The dude knows stuff about it only the original owner would know."

"And do you agree with the offer this gentlemen has just proposed?"

"Yes, that's fair."

"Then let's just call it even and you both go on your way."

I took the guy's number, mounted my steed, and rode home with my bag of half smokes swinging from my handlebar. Beaming at the bike beneath me. I must've gone through that scenario a million times in my mind between July and today. I could hardly believe I'd executed it like clockwork. All without losing my half-smokes.