Tuesday: 11am: I found out that the initial Country Bikes order will arrive to Profile from Germany in one month. No go on a new frame, fork and bars for now.
Noon: Degroot calls and hooks me up with a Deco set up (frame, fork, seat)
2pm: Josh at JandR bike shop sends me an email: “A little love from JandR and animal” with a picture of Animal tires, bars, seat post, and headset care of the shop and the boys over at Animal.
3pm: I check my emails and get an influx of messages from locals: they’re bummed about the situation and our keeping their eyes open for me.
3:30pm: My good riding buddy Forest calls: “Hey man, check Craig’s list! Shane from “The Tint Shop” (a local vintage collector) just called to tell me your stuff is online.”
We get on Craig’s list and there, in pieces, is a good portion of my bike. My blood pressure spikes. I can barely react. Shane (our warranty guy) gets on the phone as his new identity (“John”) and negotiates a meet up time with the thief. “John” is interested in the bars only--his kid is “looking to build a sweet bike.” Shit is on.
I call in the report number and a police man (who ended up being extremely nice and helpful) shows up to the shop in less than five minutes. Before I know it, everyone in the shop is up front helping to identify my bike to the police.
Within ten minutes the officer, myself, and Grant (our shipper at Profile and decoy for the bust) head to the kids address. My hopes are up, I can’t wait to get my rig back.
As we show up to the house, we knock and hide. No answer. A text comes through: “We’ll meet you up at Hooters. I’ve got a backpack on with the bars. Call me when you get there.”
We relieve Grant of his decoy duties--the officer and myself head to the rendezvous point. I’m sweating profusely. It’s brutally hot and I’m nervous in anticipation…we arrive and I’m dropped off around the corner. I see Hooters in front of me about 50 feet. There is a line of cars out front…I hide behind a white truck with a rebel flag and text “I’m here, where are you at.” Silence. My phone beeps: “Its Chris, dude, heard about your bike, sorry man.” My phone beeps, its Sean: “Hey, make sure you let the cops know it’s an expensive bike so they don’t blow you off!” My phone beeps, from Tom V: “You better get that bike back sucka.” I wait. The heat is giving me a headache. The silence is killing me. Beep: “Hey man, my friend took my phone and played a joke on me. I got no parts man, sorry.”
I’m beaten.
I walk across the parking lot. The asphalt is cooking me…where is that clown from PeeWee’s Big Adventure? He’s laughing at me. I’m sure of it. With a pile of cut bike chain in his Ronald McDonald gloves.
I walk back to the officer, my head down. “Man, they’re on to us” and I repeat to him the text.
“Well,” he says, “we got plenty of evidence. I’ll report this to my superiors and keep you in the loop.”
“Shall I go back past their house one more time” I ask.
“If you want,” he says… “I’ll go over there now just to double check.”
I feel terrible. So close. So far. I’m pissed. I need water. I really just want my damn bike back.
Walking to my car I stumble upon a folded up $20 bill on the ground. I feel a little comforted I guess? I think to myself that at least one good thing has happened today.
I get to my car and turn on the A/C full blast. I started heading towards the bridge to trudge the 33 miles back to my house. “What’s to lose,” I think to myself. I turn away from the bridge and head back to the thief’s house. I turn the corners slowly, one right, one left, another right, a final left and there, in front of the house is the officer with two kids in handcuffs. The house’ garage door opened, with the stairs to the attic drawn down.
The officer walks to my window and I ask “got any good news?”
“Excellent news” he says, “I’ve arrested two kids, there’s another on the way here with his parents and they all have admitted to the theft.” I just need you to identify your bike and you’re good to go.”
My head is pounding: from anger, to disappointment, and now to an overwhelming feeling of being flat out stoked.
I walk up to the garage where my bike is in pieces. It’s like a body ripped to shreds and I’m the witness to the atrocity. “Yep, that’s my gold sprocket…yep, those are my Ti GDH bolts…yep that’s every single piece of my bike.” Each parent walks up to me separately--they each shake my hand and offer an apology. I suddenly feel like I’m at a funeral. My response to each of the six parents is the same: “It’s ok, it’s not your fault. I’m just happy my bikes back.” And when I get to the last father in line, he, in a frustrated tone yells out “why are you being so cool about this?”
Taken aback, I think about it for a second and respond: “Because I was in your son’s shoes when I was 16. I was doing dumb shit. I got caught and learned my lesson.”
“Well hell,” he says, “you got any advice for me?”
"I do. Get him back on that bike of his (I point to the three in the garage). That shit saved my life.”
I let out a pretty big sigh of relief. I shake hands with the officer and thank him about twenty more times for his help. With my bike, like a disfigured body stuffed into my trunk, I head back to Tampa. I feel settled.
About 10 miles from home my gas light flashes on. I dig into my pocket and realize that I don’t have my wallet or any of my credit cards. But I do feel some paper…I pull it out and realize it’s that twenty I found in the Hooters Parking lot.
Today was a good day….
Thanks to everyone who made the past 24 hours a little bit easier to handle: Everyone at Profile (especially Corey, Grant, Shane, Gus, Dave and Jack), Chad at Deco, Josh at JandR bike shop, Teague, Scotty, and Ralph at Animal, Forrest Roberts, Alan Shirley, and especially Shane from “The Tint shop” for the initial lead. And of course thanks to everyone who shot me a text, phone call, or email in support! Rider’s shouldn’t be stealin’ rider’s bikes. Peace.
After doing a BMX 'zine for ten years (1987 - 1996) FATBMX made it on the internet. The year was 1998. Here to stay.