A Whole New Meaning To Boxing Day

A normal person would just have their bike stolen and be done with it. Not me, that's too easy. I have my bike stolen and then six months later run into the guy and my bike (on Boxing Day, yes). He was going into the convenience store, I was going out. He leans my bike up against the outside of the store. For the record, this bike is one-of-a-kind, there is zero doubt that this is my stolen bike.

Now, a normal person might go back into the store and confront the fellow, ask where he got the bike, or possibly even call the police, but not me. No, that'd be too easy. I took it. I stole my bike back. For about thirty seconds. I made it as far as the end of the parking lot before the guy came running out of the store after me. Now, a normal person on a bike vs. person running: biker should be able to get away. I had a head-start. But again, that'd be too easy. I have a bum knee and am no longer on painkillers, so I wasn't going very fast. Probably shouldn't have tried to ride the bike in the first place.

He caught up to me, cursing and swearing. "It's my f***ing bike," I shouted at him over and over. He got ahold of the handlebars, ran me into a post, and kicked me into the street. Oh, did I mention that I had a hot tea in my hand while this was going on? Should have thrown it at him, but I wasn't thinking too clearly. To add insult to injury, at some point during this escapade I pissed myself. Great. So now I, stay at home mom and crazy knitting fiend, have found my stolen bike, had it back, gotten it stolen again, and am now bruised and bloody avoiding traffic in wet pants. This gives a whole new meaning to the term, "Boxing Day."

The champion of the day took my bike back into the store with him and finished completing his purchases. I took out my cell and called the cops, but unfortunately, I was in such a state of shock that nearly all I could do was swear. Our champion winner came back out of the store and proceeded to ride circles around me, taunting me. "You think it's your bike? Come and get me!" he repeated. I tried to chase him up the street but was in even less of an unable position to be able to do so. I waited for the cops. In wet pants. The lady cop really didn't like me. Again with the swearing bit. Apparently shock removes all filters from my mouth. Balls.

I've proved it's my bike, but they can't do anything not knowing who the guy was. They have video from the store but no one seems to know who he is. I really don't know what I'm going to do if I run into him again. Which, with my luck, I will. Will I call the cops? Will I go bat-sh** crazy? I don't know. Future me will have to deal with that one, I'm still nursing bruises.
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1 Response Jan 7, 2013

That's totally ****** up.

Is there a large bike community in your city?