The Bicycle Thief

Get on your bikes and ride!

I recently acquired a bike. It is now my favorite possession. It is actually the second bike I have acquired in so many months. Would you like to hear the story of how I came about each? Of course you would.

When I moved to Venice from Encino it became painfully obvious that I needed a bike. I fucking hate driving, I hate traffic, I hate my mom’s car, I hate that my ghetto fabulous Grand Am was sold without my approval, I hate the crank windows, I hate running out of gas in the middle of Pico because my fucking gas gauge doesn’t work. Alas, the less time in that piece of shit the better. I started scouring Craigslist day and night, and what I found was the later it gets in the month the more price sensitive I can become as a buyer.

As a gainfully employed man who views certain things as a want as opposed to a need, I am in a position of power when it comes to bargaining. All these unemployed fucks in LA need to pay rent and the closer it gets to the first, the more they are willing to let you rape them of their possessions. I set a price of $20 I was willing to pay for a used mountain bike. Unfortunately, being a tall, muscular German, very few bikes fit me. In fact, it appears that the average bike is made for someone who is about 5 foot 7. I unsuccessfully tested about 10 bikes until a 12 year old Mexican child in the valley showed me a large mountain bike. It was perfect, it was his older brother’s and his older brother was out of town. He was going to use the 20 bucks I gave him to buy marijuana and then tell his bro that someone stole it.

Fuck ya I deal in grey market goods. I will also buy things made in sweat shops if it lowers the cost because I have no compassion.

Needless to say, when I got home with my brand new mountain bike I realized that the brakes, the gear shift and most importantly, the chain were all broken. The tires were flat, it was completely worthless. I suppose the frame was intact and for a mere $200 a bike shop probably would have tuned it up for me, but I just chalked it up as a loss. I got hustled by a Mexican child in Tarzana, I didn’t even try to get my money back, the kid won. Immigrant 1, me 0.

Months go by. One of my roommates gets a brand new fixie, the other restores his old mountain bike, they go on nightly adventures together of which I am excluded. They start a biker gang and brag about going off jumps and riding with no hands, 10 year old fomo consumes me.  In this time I fail to acquire a Coachella ticket on Craigslist and no one responds to my bicycle inquiries anymore, I almost give up and have my mom ship me my old roller blades.

Then one day I see a posting from a little black boy in south central post about his 21” frame 26” wheel green mountain bike that is “ready to ride” for $30. I figured I would drive out there, offer him 20 and then he could go around the block shoot dice for an hour and turn it into 40.

And I thought I had seen poverty…I show up on a dilapidated block of east 54^th street, it was like one of those lots with the abandoned pick up trucks with no tires and dolls that had their eyes poked out and a basketball hoop with no rim. There were also rabid dogs barking at me, it no lie looked like the setting of a fucking DMX music video. When the kid wheeled out the bike I handed him $30 and then ran. As I started loading it into my car a homeless man offered to help. Usually I tell homeless men to go fuck themselves, but I have a feeling that homeless guys in the hood probably still pack heat. I accepted his help and tipped him accordingly.

I made it back to Venice with my brand new, well new to me, bicycle. I decided to take it on a test ride, that test ride took me all the way down the coast of California to Manhattan beach. Past mansions, past beach bonfires, past a hot surfer lagoon, it was magical. Along the bike path I gave the friendly biker wave to all who passed. I was now part of the club, I had a fucking bike.

I arrived in Manhattan beach feeling like a regular Lance Armstrong. Look at this motherfucker, I just biked from LA to the South Bay (Ok so it’s only like 12 miles, but I haven’t exercised in a minute) then I realized, oh great I don’t have a fucking bike lock. Whatever, I biked right into a bar and demanded a slice of pizza and their hoppiest IPA. I looked retarded but whatever, I earned it. At this point sitting on a bar stool, I started to realize that my ass was in serious pain. I had always heard the bike team guys talk about this affliction in college but I never really understood why. I lived on my bike when I was a kid, I used to fucking bomb down hills in my buddy’s backyard and do backflips into Geist. I used to go off 12 foot jumps and fall and bleed all over the place, because that’s just what you do when you’re a kid. Back then I recall no such rectal affliction. But now I seriously felt as though I had been ass fucked…also on the list of things to get, a softer seat. Honestly why the fuck do they even make hard seats? Is there a market for people who really appreciate glut pain?

I made my way back to Venice and it was much less enjoyable than the ride there. The sun was going down, all the attractive people were gone and I found myself vacillating between gears 1 and 2 because my calves felt like I had spent the better part of an hour doing star jumps.

I started timidly trying to ride with no hands, and I finally figured it out. I gave the “what’s up nod” to cute girls that would ride or jog by, like “Ya…I can ride with no hands, n*gga aks (sic) about me.” I even stopped at an ice cream truck on the way home and got the Spiderman popsicle, the one with the gum balls for eyes.

I could taste the salt in my mouth when I finally arrived home, and I could still see the waves crashing against the shore when I laid down to go to sleep that night. One thing was now for certain, if anything is in a 5 mile radius of me, I am biking that bitch. Not because I’m socially conscious or any of that bull shit…in fact if I could make my bike give out emissions I would, just because I am that apathetic about the green movement. I want to live on Earth at its peak, I don’t want a better life for my children, I’d be jealous if they had it better than me.

I’ve only had the bike now for 5 days…and I got a nice little lock for it, and I’ve been tearing Venice to shreds. I have a biker gang of my own now and I pity the man that I catch trying to steal my bike. I was a fucking nerd back in the day, and I stayed inside and played lots and lots of violent video games, I have been fantasizing for years to be given the chance to murder the fuck out of someone. I dare you crackhead…please try to be my bicycle thief, I’ll press forward, down, forward, Y and rip out your fucking spine. Fatality bitch. (This is interesting, this is what happens when I blog at a bar. This was a nice piece about how much I enjoy the ocean and biking along it and then 5 beers later it is quickly turning into a violent fantasy…but really I just wanted to make a Mortal Kombat reference)

I do look forward to using my bike more and more and pressing the limits of riding under the influence. I have heard rumors of DUI’s from bicycling, but then again I have also heard rumors of the boating under the influence and if I’m floating I’m operating at a .3 minimum, I’ll just buy a helmet and call it a wash. People of California, buy yourself a used bike off Craigslist from the ghetto and join my gang, I may even make custom embroidered jerseys.