I bought a bike. Then my dad bought a bike. Now he’s in the driveway, morphing the two bikes into one big best of bike. I keep imagining it is going to be like a Transformer. I’ll go out; it will look like a bike, and then, through an elaborate series of twists and turns, it will become a giant mechanical creature bent on destroying the Earth, or fighting crime, or whatever the hell the Transformers did. I didn’t ask my dad to morph the bikes. In fact, I’m still not sure why he bought the other bike at all, but it happened and maybe by the end of the day I’ll have a crime-fighting, Earth-destroying mode of transportation.
Let me take you back to the start of the story. I wasn’t kidding when I said in my last post that I didn’t know how to ride a bike. My parents tried to remove my training wheels when I was 7 or 8. I told them if they did, I wouldn’t ride the bike again. They took the wheels off, and I haven’t ridden since. A few years ago, I started regretting my stubbornness and wanted to learn to ride again. But life got in the way; I had other things to do and needed a reason to put in the effort. Plus, I really don’t like falling down or getting hurt. I don’t see the point in willfully welcoming pain, so I avoided it. After my post welcoming challenges for new experiences, someone stole my own idea and challenged me to ride a bike. Not very original, but hey, I try not to judge. In the spirit of adventure and trying new things, I accepted the challenge.
Immediately, I was faced by several obstacles. The first and most obvious obstacle to learning to ride a bike is obtaining a bike. I turned to Facebook and Craigslist to help me out. Amazingly, no one on Facebook offered to let me borrow their bike. What a surprise, except not really. Criagslist, however, offered a plethora of options. I found ads for cheap bikes, expensive bikes, kid’s bikes, and if I ever need a bike rack, I know where to look. Then I found a posting for a police auction of bicycles.
Really? A police auction? AWESOME!!! 1. I might get something decent for cheap. If someone wanted to steal it in the first place, it must at least look good. 2. I’d get to see the shady people who go to police auctions? Seriously, who wouldn’t be curious about what cross section of the population attend these auctions. 3. If I found a bike, I would technically own someone else’s property. It would be the closest I’ve ever been to stealing…well except for that one time…never mind. 4. Maybe, the criminals would get pissed and come to the auction and stage a throw-down. Then I could be on the news as they cover the violent shoot-out at the police bicycle auction. I could cry and incoherently mutter about the angry look in their eyes. Like I said, AWESOME!!!
So I set out for the auction around 4:45. Viewing began at 4, and I intended to be there when it started. However, my mother, who called in the middle of the day to see what I was up to (that’s a whole other story), thought that I should take my dad so that someone who knew bikes would be with me. Not that Dad is a bike genius. He just has the best mechanical sense in the family. However, when he got home at 4:15, he didn’t want to go. So now I was running late, still had to go to the ATM, and was sure all the good bikes would be taken by auction attending yuppies by the time I got there.
It was hard to be upset though. That is until I couldn’t find the street I needed. I looked and looked, even going so far as to drive up and down neighborhood streets for like 20 minutes. I was looking for SW 2nd. I could find SW 1st and SW 5th, but not SW 2nd. I wanted to believe in its existence, but I think it’s a figment of the city’s imagination. Or it’s like Platform 9 3/4 in the Harry Potter books and only shows up when you run blindly at it. In any case, I returned to the last street I had been on that I was familiar with.
As I drove down Court Ave. by Third Street, I saw the Police station. Then I saw bikes chained to a fence. I thought I had found it. I even took pictures of the bikes, which I can’t post because the cable I need to transfer photos is in Kentucky. This is why you should just move once, not come home for three weeks, then go get your shit.
I digress. I was sure I was going to get my bike. Except, there was no auctioneer, no cops, no yuppies wanting to buy other people’s stolen bikes. Nothing. I climbed the stone steps and met an officer at the door. He had no idea what I was talking about. He apologized for his lack of knowledge and directed me to an information window just inside the door.
There a confused woman behind the window looked at me like I was crazy. She gave me the number for the property department, but they closed at 4:30. It was now after 5. I called anyway hoping someone would be working late because of the auction. Instead, I got an automated answering system. By this point, I was done, over it. I gave up for the night and went home.
If you need to know how to pick up your impounded vehicle, I can tell you, but if you need to know where the bike auction was, you’re on your own.
Stay tuned for Part 2 – coming soon
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