Stolen Bike: It Can Happen to You!

I never thought that it would happen to me. That kind of thing only happens to other people. I wouldn’t be a statistic. I would not be victimized. No one would steal my bike. While I know that it is quite common in a town full of bikers and bikes; BMX, mountain bikes, road bikes, or just the cruisers, Moab is notorious for bike theft.

The funny thing is that my car is never locked, mostly because for over a year my bike was worth more than my car. The car keys are usually in the ignition or on the floorboard while my cell phone, iPod, and wallet are usually not far from the front seat. Ironically, despite all of that, the bike is always locked up. When I rode my bike to work, it remained not only locked up but in sight of the employees. Being a ski bum in the winter and a dirtbag mountain biker and climber in the summer, it is hard to imagine how one like me could ever even save enough money to purchase a sweet Rocky Mountain Bomber. Well, I did.

It is even more difficult to imagine the heartbreak and pain I felt when I went out to my car early one morning to realize that the bicycle had been stolen right off of my bike rack. I immediately fell to the ground and began to cry, but luckily I was wearing my padded bike shorts in preparation for the anticipated ride of the day and it didn’t even hurt when I hit the ground. Also luckily, I am a girl, and crying is socially acceptable. However, if I was a man, I am sure that I would have cried just the same. To my dismay, the ONE TIME that I had the bike on the rack, without it properly secured (the lock was locked but it had not actually been wrapped accurately around the bike) was the time for my bike to be easily taken from me. 

My connection with that bicycle was put into perspective that day, especially because of an event that had taken place earlier in the week. Just days before the theft, I had a fairly significant argument with my boyfriend. Being the sensitive female that I am, I was overly upset at the thought of a breakup and the scenario definitely made my heart heavy (but NOT heavy enough though to cry out in bloody murder the way I did over the loss of my bike).  Dealing with this sort of loss sends one through a roller coaster of emotion. Initially, I was confused and I asked myself, “Is this really happening?” Obviously I was not accepting that possibility, so I moved to the next stage of the confusion, “Who is playing this silly joke on me?” When I thought that one out, I realized that this was not a joke, and I began to cry again.

I even jumped in my car and drove around the block in a similar fashion to that of one who is looking for a lost pet. And typically, I couldn’t help but think, “That bike was soooo expensive.” My biker pal Margy suggested that I file a police report. This sounds simple, and it was, but it did require me to voluntarily enter a police station which is not something that I am accustomed to. Surprisingly, the officer was actually pretty nice. He was able to make light of cops and their love for donuts which scored him points, as did the fact that he is a mountain biker as well. Moab even has a specific bike loss form, due probably to the high frequency at which bike theft occurs here.

While it is highly doubtful that I will ever see that sweet bike that bombed trails and gnarly areas like the Porcupine Rim so well ever again, I have sworn to not cry about it anymore and I am trying to remind myself that it can almost always be worse. Most importantly, I leave you with this:  it CAN happen to you.  

About the author:  Originally from Southern California, Michelle Mulder spends her winters skiing and snowboarding at Powder Mountain in northern Utah and the rest of the year in Moab where she enjoys white water kayaking, climbing, and of course, mountain biking.