YEAH!
Well, there's much to be told and as time goes on, this story will grow and become something that will surely become a piece of not only Montreal cycling history, but also cycling history anywhere.
My bike was stolen and retrieved in less than 20 hours. This is unheard of. This is insane.
But this happened.
6000 blog hits
170+ shares on Facebook
Dozens of retweets and link shares
Thousands of caring people and a strong community.
My bike was found.
It was a true demonstration of how a community could come together as a whole and make a difference. This has inspired me immensely and more will come of this than a cool story.
For now, here is what I can tell you.
At 12:30 on Tuesday night, I left my good friend's place after a lovely night of hanging and walked over to the pole where I had locked my bike.
As I approached where it should have been, something didn't feel right. In fact, something was definitely wrong.
The bike was no longer locked to the pole.
Wow. (insert vomit feeling)
I asked myself if I really, truly locked the bike at the pole infront of me and proceeded to walk to other spots where I could have maybe locked it.
This was false hope.
I was not being forgetful. My bike was gone.
I walked back up to my friend's place and as she opened the door, she cheerfully said, " What'd you forget buddy?"
I responded in a soft voice, " My bike got stolen."
This was the moment that things start becoming real. At first, it felt like a dream, not real, made up. But no, this was happening.
I put my bag down in my friend's apartment, walked back outside quietly onto the balcony and at the top of my lungs I yelled,
"FUCK YOU, YOU MOTHER FUCKING BIKE THIEF."
As my blood continued to boil, I saw neighbours peering out their windows and peoples' lights turning on. Those who heard my angered bellow knew that this was not a drunken club goer but rather, an injured soul.
I walked back down to the pole where my bike had been locked and my heart began to sink. It sank not to my stomach, but underground. It sank to the darkest place that there could be and where no light had ever existed.
I wanted to puke.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to yell.
Since puking and crying is not a good look for me, I went with yelling. Oh how I yelled.
My friend mentioned to me the next day that she had never seen me that mad before.
The rage oozed out of every ounce of my body until I couldn't be angry any more.
I went back inside and tried to make sense of it all. I had to get the word out.
I immediately posted onto my instagram and my facebook of the heinous crime that just happened.
After a few moments, it became evident that I couldn't do much.
I had to go home. I had to be home. I needed to feel safe.
It was too much.
I decided to call a cab and looked to my wallet to make sure I had some money.
Oh wait, I lost my wallet too. Damnit.
Bike-less and wallet-less, I got in to a cab that was generously paid for by my good friend. She was awesome. (p.s. I still owe you $13)
I got home and the depression set in.
I felt hopeless. My beautiful bike had been taken only to be flipped on the internet or on a street corner by some undeserving basterd.
That bike had helped me travel thousands of kilometers to deliver hundreds of packages and had helped me do more than just stay in shape. It was my escape, it was one of the few places I felt safe.
I spent a few hours contemplating my next action and decided to make a post at 3:45am with a description of my bike along with a photo.
Part 2 to come very soon.
Stay tuned, the ride is going to get bumpy.
HAVE YOU HAD YOUR BIKE STOLEN IN MONTREAL?
If so, please send me an e-mail. I will be compiling stories to add to my experience and hopefully change the fact that this city's name has become synonymous with bike theft.
Email- cyclebird@gmail.com
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