Weeks 5-7 Challenges and Setbacks 2: Stolen Bike

You know that moment of realization when something has been taken from you? It's like suspended animation: your mind rationalizes that you must have parked it somewhere else, while your gut registers the truth: it's gone. Here is my helmet visor, the only thing left of my trusty Gary Fisher Tassajara, stolen from the Farnsworth entrance bike racks at the Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA). My beloved primary mode of transportation vanished into thin air. Now, I have lived long enough to know that one should not become attached to objects - they break, lose their luster, get lost, stolen, become tedious. But this bike, this bike was truly special to me, not as an object, per se, but because of the 10 years of memories and victories and places that have become embedded within it. Honestly, I wish they would have stolen my car!

Here's the sad story: on Friday 28 June around 6pm, I rode the quick 3 miles up to the DIA to meet my girlfriends for happy hour in Kresge Court. Rain was threatening when I rode up and locked my bike and helmet to the fancy new bike racks outside the Farnsworth entrance. BTW, I have used that particular lock to secure my bikes for over a decade, throughout Boston and in some very sketchy neighborhoods in Detroit. I would have never thought this could happen at the DIA, especially because it was a busy night, with a valet on duty, and lots of people and cars and bikes in the vicinity. I was in the DIA for about 2.5 hours, feeling up after viewing the Ellsworth Kelley exhibit (how can you not be happy after viewing his color block prints?). As I left the museum, I was psyched that it was still light out and wasn't raining.  I was considering my possibilities: stopping at Whole Foods to pick up some groceries, or heading to Campus Martius for Monica Blaire and the Average White Band. I had that light and free feeling you get when you are on a bike - unencumbered by the hassle of finding a parking space for a car. As I rounded the corner, that bizarre feeling of suspended animation washed over me.

I picked up my visor and went back inside to report the theft to DIA security. After a bit of fumbling by an older supervisor, a bright young woman suggested that they call Wayne State Police. To date, I have had no interaction with WSU police, and I was pleasantly surprised when a very professional Officer Setty showed up in less than 10 minutes (unheard of response time in Detroit!). She took my report and very kindly offered to drive me home. Welcome, as by now it was raining hard (how appropriate). I arrived home, posted my trauma on Fb, accepted sympathy from friends, drank a shot of vodka, and cried.

After the chaos and stunned self pity of the Friday night theft, the next morning I devoted to action (which always feels better!): I got photos and my serial number to the DIA (who told me they have security video of the theft) and WSU police (they had already assigned a detective on the case - Inspector Powell), and notified all the bike shops in the city (the Hub, 3rd Street Hardware, Wheelhouse and a new one in EM) so they don't inadvertently buy my stolen bike.  Finally, I notified my neighbors via Nextdoor and appealed for a loaner bike. Their incredible response in my next post...