I usually walk to all of my classes. Healthy though it may be, it takes longer than I’d like it to. I’ve often wished for the ability to leap miles in a single bound. I would not only be able to cross campus in a matter of seconds; it would also be an interesting icebreaker with women.
Unfortunately, I have yet to develop superpowers of that nature, so I bought a bike instead. The bike was brand new. In retrospect, I probably should have bought a used one from Craigslist, but I am loath to buying expensive items from the same site where people arrange anonymous sex hookups. Instead, I made my purchase at The Bike Gallery in Portland, a reliable and well-managed store where, I feel safe in assuming, no one has ever organized a threesome.
I had a considerable amount of money to spend this summer, so I went to town customizing my bike with all the accoutrements I could imagine. By the time I was finished, what had once been a simple means of transportation was now the two-wheeled equivalent of a Cadillac Escalade. I love my bike dearly, and I imagine had I bought a heart for it, my bike would love me back.
As I walked my heavily-modified monstrosity toward the door, the salesman asked me what I was planning on using it for. I started to explain that I was going to ride it to class, but no sooner had I spoken the words “University of Oregon” than the salesman’s eyes widened with fear. A frigid, bitter wind swept through the shop as he pulled me close with the sudden urgency of a man attempting to prevent a disaster of unspeakable proportions.
“You can’t take a bike like that to Eugene. Thieves will tear it apart in seconds. ”
Struggling in his uncomfortable embrace, I tried to explain that I had bought a Kryptonite Lock, which I thought was enough to protect my new purchase in the hive of scum and villainy that is my school. The salesman pointed out my disillusionment by recalling tales of bike thieves armed with pickup trucks and bolt cutters: ruthless street urchins who leave only the twisted remains of once-proud bikes in their path. After hearing several stories about bikes of all kinds getting swiped, I realized leaving my bike unattended on campus would be a lot like a frightening scene in “Jurassic Park.”
My bike keeps me company in my room every night. Bike lockups exist in the courtyard of my complex, but I don’t trust them; a fenced-in compound well-removed from the street may be acceptable for other bikes, but certainly not for mine. The siren song of my bike is strong enough to draw criminals from miles around. Remember that these are not your ordinary criminals. They are the genius, “Ocean’s 11” type of criminals, willing to subvert all security measures in the pursuit of the big payoff. Come to think of it, my bike probably isn’t even safe in my apartment. I should buy a gun.
My bike has scarcely been out in daylight since I got here. Sure, I ride it occasionally, but only when I’m going somewhere where I can keep an eye on it. Even then, I worry that a squad of ninja bike thieves will snatch it out from under me as I pedal. Instead, I walk to class and the bike I bought to decrease transit time cowers safely under lock and key. Is it hypocritical to not ride my bike for fear it will get stolen and I won’t be able to use it anymore? Of course not.
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