Sunday. July 19th in the year of our lord, 2015. I woke up to go for a long run. (I know…weird. I’m training for a half marathon. More on that in future posts)
I got back from the run, it was about 90 degrees outside so I was pretty banged up when I got back. So it took me a bit to realize that my bike was missing a key element. You might notice what’s missing in this picture…
Can’t see it?
I’ll give you a hint, it’s the handle bars.
They are missing.
The things on the front of the bike that I use to rest my hands on and steer. They were removed from my bike last night. It might trouble you to know that I did not give my approval for this removal.
I’m not that upset about the theft itself, rather what was thefted .
I mean, the handlebars? The handlebars?
I couldn’t ride it either way, but at least if they’d stolen the whole thing I wouldn’t need to look at the shadow of what once was. I’d be able to mourn the entirety of it rather than be forced to stare at the husk of it’s former glory.
I imagine that the person who took them has mounted them on their wall as a hunting trophy. Like antlers, or a deer head, or that singing fish from the 90’s. Or maybe they’ve ground it up and sold it on the black market as a male enhancement pill.
Regardless of the purpose I’m sure the person who stole them are putting them to better use than I ever could.
Thanks Chicago, for reminding me why we can’t have nice things.