Missing:Alex's Bike

I have finally calmed a bit so I can tell this story. Before, I was a bit livid and unsettled but now that I seem to have calmed to the point of not having homicidal thoughts, I can write with my usual random and stray thoughts rather than a dark, focused and angry humor. So if I seem to go off point and fly off the path of true enlightenment…well that is normal.

So we have been without a car for a while. That is not such a big deal unless we want to leave this tiny little cove. Our apartment, Alex’s school, my shop, Carme’s office: all in a 5 block radius. Tossa encompasses maybe a 6 square block as a point of reference.

The only issues without having a car is leaving the neighborhood or school district sized pueblo (ha ha) or going to soccer games. Sure the home field was within walking distance (hence the 6th block) but sometimes having a car saved on time. Normally we have to borrow a family member’s car if we knew time was of essence, but in case of a pinch, we would all ride our bikes.

Bikes have their definite benefits. I don’t need to go into that rant but there is a bit of caution involved, also. One would think that in this small and peaceful town, that like old times in America, where bike locks were unheard of, Carme still warned us to make sure the bikes were locked wherever we went. This is where the drama begins.

So one Monday, Alex had practice; Carme borrowed her mother’s car and needed to be in a town 30 minutes away preventing her from taking Alex to practice. The plan, the one I thought I had worked out with Carme and in turn she relayed to her father, was as follows:

I mentioned I would take Alex to practice by bike, Alex would be picked up by his grandfather and retrieve the bike from the field and spend the night with his grandparents as usual on Monday night. Well all good plans have variables you can’t plan and assume will work out on their own.

Thus I closed my shop and Alex and I rode our bikes to practice. Now I have ridden my bike to practice many of times alone. I was careful to lock it since I am there from 8:30 to 11 at night. But here we are, pulling up on overcast Monday afternoon, with what I thought as a well thought out plan. I left his bike there, unlocked, with the thought that when his grandfather came to pick him up, as he usually did since he enjoyed the act of boasting about his strong and able grandson who was flourishing on the local soccer team, would in turn retrieve his bike and place it in the car. I left the bike unlocked since Alex has lost his key to his lock and I could not fully rely on a 7 year old to not lose my key. But no other bikes were locked at that time. OK, I let my guard down.

A few miscommunications and my father in law did not get the bike. So there is sat. Last seen the Monday at 5:30 when I rode off in the then light rain which turned heavy in a matter of a few pedals of the bike as I slowly peddled back to my shop to reopen for business.

Sad to say it was not until Friday that we realized the bike was not in anyone’s possession. How we came about this knowledge after 4 days is sad and comical. Carme and Alex did not regularly ride their bikes since moving to the new apartment in closer proximity to the school. All the while, I assumed his bike was with his grandfather, stored in his garage. Until today, when we all decided to go for a bike ride on this beautiful sunny Labor day holiday (Spain’s version that is). After a few minutes of confusion and a few phone calls, Carme walked to my shop with a teary eyed Alex and laid the news on me as we finally realized the bike was gone. I then realized the bike was never picked up from the field. Reality sunk in and Alex tears began to flow harder.

Just at that moment, I was hit with my memory of losing a bike. I remember receiving this bike for Xmas when I was about 13. We just moved into a new house from our townhouse apartment to the other side of Hampton. Since we now had a garage, I could easily store a bike. Before I did not have the luxury of having a bike and my parents thought it was useless to buy me one before then since my whole world revolved around the townhouse/apartment complex called Queens Terrace (which in truth, I think was bigger than where I live now).

Since entering into my puberty and longing for a bit of freedom, this bike made my life a world easier to explore than before. No more walking to a friend’s house or to venture further than my aching feet would allow me to go normally. Now I could feel the wind and the only limits to my exploration were just getting lost.
I remember this one cold windy day my mother asked me to go ride my bike to the pharmacy. Finally my freedom had come at a cost. While my father lazily napped, my mother needed an able and willing body to run an errand. I was not too bothered by her asking but it took me into a neighborhood with not too good of a reputation. It was to a strip mall at the corner of Mercury and Queens. Like all strip malls that start off clean and fresh, they slowly and deliberately turn into dismal places with broken parking lots and randomly and dim lit lamps which scared the likes of most shoppers after sundown. Still I ventured off while my mother lies in wait for some medical relief.

One thing I had never thought of, or not sure if I was too lazy to purchase, was a bike lock. As I peddled down Lewis Rd, I wondered what I would do to secure my bike outside of the pharmacy. And when I say pharmacy, I mean the big kind where they sold everything under the sun. And my goal, the pharmacy counter, was way in the back of the store, perfectly placed so chances are, you would pass an aisle, something catches your eye and you ultimately spend more time and money in this one stop shop.

I propped up my bike on its kickstand and did not know it would be soon me and my new love would be separated. I ran thru the store, resisting the urge to look at the latest magazines and comic books as I passed thru aisle 4. I get to the counter and there are 2 people ahead of me. I anxiously watch as the pharmacist goes to answer the phone and wish he hadn’t and come to help settle this long line so I can get back to the keeping an eye on my bike.

Sitting impatiently in line, I could not take it and decided to run back out and check on my bike again, thus losing my place in line as I sailed back up aisle 4 avoiding the spoils of the other aisles. When I got there I was relieved to see that my bike sat there. My freedom. My liberator. I ducked back in. Darn aisle 4 is blocked by some kid who lost his way after high school and got stuck working in this joint who is stocking the chocolate cover pralines, so I brae aisle 5. Ooooooo, look at this cool new mechanical pencil I could use in class and never have to sharpen ---wait, the pharmacy.

Now I make it to the back of this football field sized shopping land, precursor to the Target stores adored by my wife and mother alike. The line is even longer. I run back out this time hoping drop out boy is in aisle 4 so I can knock him over for fun, but with me running they might think I stole something so hit the brakes a bit. Whew bike is still here. Smartly I made a mental note of the people in line: brown old coat, big red hair, hot mom with snotty nosed son, old man with glasses and so on. This time I waited outside along side my bike, peering in to see if I could count the people entering and leaving and figured after a few minutes beside my bike, my odds were increasing to get a short line and that extra pharmacy tech ill come off his break thus taking in twice the number of prescriptions. So I dart back in.

This time I lucked out and there was no one in line and a smiling pharmacy tech coming back fresh from a cigarette break ready to take my mother’s prescription. Still it seemed like taking my information and letting me know it will be 15 minutes and they would call my name over the loudspeaker that rivaled any major early warning or air raid siren systems. I rush back outside to stroke and shine my shiny new bike.

So I wait outside in the now colder day as the sun was setting. But time was slipping and I was wondering how much time had actually passed. I tried cracking the door to see if they had called my name. Something told me not to go. I could have been the faint voice of my bike calling out to me, who knows. I take the chance and run to the back. Luckily they told me they did indeed call, pull out the prescription and I paid and proudly walked out the store. I was close to exiting and completing my mission when a bad feeling hit me. It was like in a movie, I will not lie, as my worst fears were realized. I can still remember that horrible sick taste when I saw …actually did not see my bike waiting for me.

Adrenaline quickly set in as I scanned the horizon of busted cars and half broken parking lot light lamps for a glimpse of someone riding off with my bike. I ran around the corner of the building and still saw nothing, I ran a little bt more past the other buildings to see if there was a police officer or someone who could lay eye witness and help me get my bike back. What was I to do? Here is this scrawny, zit faced kid with tears in his eyes frantically looking for my stolen freedom. My stolen liberty.

Soon I realized all hope was lost and I had plenty of time to walk home now. What took me all of 15 minutes to ride my bike was now hitting the hour mark and the now set sun did not make it easier. I was not dressed for this long walk of shame. The only good thing was it was too dark and too cold for my friends to witness me going now at a much slower speed than normal and not strapped to my dynamo 10-speed.
Finally I rounded the last curve and noticed the street lights coming on. I laughed to myself about having to normally be home before the street lights came on and I was moving at too slow a pace, toes were too frozen and pride too bruised to make the last sprint in this marathon. I walked into the front door clumsily as my now bitterly numb fingers try to manage my house keys. My mom is angrily waiting for me. I think it was a mix of pain and worry over me but she still had not worked out that non yelling thing in this life time by then or ever. Seemingly her pain melted when she saw the tears I so long tried to hold back. Now I was seeing my own son’s tears and it hurt me to know I had a hand in his hurt.

Sure pain does build character if applied or survived just right. But as a parent, I try to prepare and nurture my son thru these moments. But every parent hates to see their kid cry. It only fuels my need to right the wrong.

So like that long walk of shame some 30 plus years ago, every passing bike was now catching my attention here in Tossa. And also like 30 plus years ago, what would I actually do if I saw someone riding by on the bike. Mind you this is a bike you could by anywhere at one of the local chains in the larger cities, but when Alex got it for his birthday in Nov, I had not seen one bike like this at the local school bike lock up. So I spent the whole day, just eyeballing each passing bike. Finally I resigned myself to just close the shop, go home and get over it, the bike was gone.

That afternoon, we all decided to head out to the local café within view of the playground so Alex could forget a little and have some fun with his friends. As we were walking the block, crossing into the second block, I spot this familiar bike. This local kid was struggling with this bike, trying to balance and stop with one foot. My mind raced into action. I called out to Carme and she spotted it but the look in her eye was that of defeat. I quickly raced over to the boy who was still struggling with this bike a bit too large for him. I then noticed his younger brother was trailing behind him handling his appropriately sized bike better than his larger sibling. I also noticed his father jogging gingerly behind the boys, yelling out for them to wait for him, The boys with the bike that looked like Alex’s had now rounded a curve and still wearing out the soles of his left shoe since he obviously could not work those hand brakes.

What was even more discouraging, this kid has practice on Mondays and I remember seeing his family always walking to practice, even the last Monday. My mind raced and I filled with anger. Just then the father passed and I tried to get his attention and I yelled out, “sir, the bicycle…” and before I could say another word…he responded with, “it’s mine”, turned his head and ran around the corner to follow his son.

Draw your own conclusions…would love to hear what you think.