Fear

On Friday night, I had plans to meet people for dinner in another part of town. Since I don't have a car biking is one of the ways I get around. Recently the roads have been too icy for my liking, so I've been taking public transportation or cabs, but on Friday night the weather had warmed and I had allowed myself enough time to haul my bike out of the apartment bike room and pedal to my destination.

To access the bike room, you have to go around the side of the building, go up three widely spaced concrete steps, down a flight of about 12 more steps, and then use a special punch key (that costs $50 to have duplicated) to unlock the broad heavy metal door. When I swung open the door on Friday, I was expecting to see the usual tangle of spokes, brightly colored metal frames, tricked out bikes, and old ten speeds. The bikes in the far back of the room usually stand fully upright, while those closest to the door are all the way on their side - so every time I open the door it's like my presence has frozen the domino effect in action. After you've extricated your bike from the game, a little push usually sends the door on its way to a firm closure. Lately, the door's been requiring an extra nudge to shut it all the way, though.

On Friday evening, I swung open the door (which was ajar) and seemed to have caught the bikes in a game of hide and seek. Only a few of the old ten speeds huddled in a small bunch in the middle of the concrete floor. The concrete floor...What the hell? I can never see the floor down here. For a split second I thought that maybe someone had organized the room. I poked my head in a little further and craned to see into the two side caverns of the room that I've never paid much attention to because there too much of a hassle to reach (stepping over all the bikes on the floor and all). Not many bikes in there either. Any bikes that weren't completely rusted, had been striped of seats and wheels. The ENTIRE bike room had been stolen.

After confirming with one more glance around the room, I got the hell out of there. I have an active imagination and feared that the bike thief/ves may have been lying in wait for an unsuspecting rider like me to further violate. As soon as I was up those steps my fear turned to seething anger. Who does that?! Who goes around trying the doors of apartment buildings, finds one ajar, and then milks it for all it's worth. And this took a little bit of planning - at least if he/she/they took all the bikes (probably about 50) in one hit. They'd have had to carry them up those steps and presumably load them into a truck.

Given the circumstances, I took the fatalistic approach. I live in a city where the homicide rate is disgustingly high, and I figure that recovering bikes is not a priority among the force. I don't expect I'll ever see my bike again, nor will the perpetrator likely ever be caught. A report has been filed, so there's that but in the meantime, I'm in the market for a new ride.

This, in conjunction with a gun-point robbery at the deli I frequent at work, has completely eroded my sense of safety. I moved here from New York City - a place that I had drafted in my young psyche as one filled with drug dealers, guns, and violence, thanks in part to my Dad's description of the Big Apple in the 1970s and early 80s(when it was a more dangerous place). Maybe I was just lucky there and unlucky here, but I've been more fearful here than anywhere else I've lived before. My building's in a very nice area, and there is a private security patrol a few blocks away. But never before have I looked at bushes solely as hiding places for "bad people." I'd like to think that my fear is irrational, and that it will dissipate as I get to know this city as I did New York, but given these recent events, I'm sadly more confident that my fear is warranted. Investing in some more self defense classes and a new lock for my apartment maybe more practical than hoping to ever feel at ease in this city.