I want my bike back.

I'm going to link through to a post from my tumblr blog, but I'll say it here, too: 

I fucked up. I left my bike unlocked, in the bed of my friend John's truck, as we went inside an ice cream shop for dessert around 9pm. When we walked outside after eating, it was gone. I ran up and down the street, talking to pods of people and leaving my name and number with people at bars and stores, called a few well-connected friends, and got a lift home after sobbing for a few minutes in the cab of the pickup. I walked around for an hour after getting home, wandering through neighborhoods around mine, and even left my name with a cop who was crawling the streets. I've since tweeted and tumblred and facebooked about it, as well as texted everyone in my phone. 

I spent a summer saving up to buy that bike, making payments one by one. My friend Chris paid the last bit of it for my 25th birthday, and my friend John built the wheels for me. Every bike shop on the west side has had a hand in making that thing happen. I just bought new tape for the handlebars. My friend Ben had just ordered me brand new tires.

I made a big mistake leaving it prone. A truck bed is poor protection against greed. I'll own the fault here. I blame no one. Still: I WANT MY BIKE BACK. 

If you see it, call the police, or call a local bike shop, or something. I just want my bike back. I'm heartbroken. I just want my bike back.

The Missing Bike