In early spring of this year, as gas prices began to escalate and the weather began to warm up, I started a search for the perfect bike. I figured that a bike would not only save me gas money, but provide me with a perfect excuse for spending more time outdoors and getting exercise.
I found my dream bike and purchased it used from a lady in Edmonton. I brought it home, and spent hours fixing it up. When I was finished, I had turned a used, beat up 1970s bike into a blue bike with white polka dots, complete with a basket in the front, brand new brown leather seat, and shiny metal fenders over the tires.
All of my hard work and money spent had turned into the bike I always wanted — and I loved to ride it around town each day. But then, on the weekend of July 15-17 2011, someone thoughtlessly came into my yard on 52nd Avenue in Lucas Heights and stole my bike. I do not even have words to express my feelings of disgust, violation, and sadness. This bike was one of a kind, and it’s not like I can walk into any store to replace it. Whoever stole my bike not only got the one thing I was most excited about owning — but also stole a huge piece of my heart.
Yet, although this person singlehandedly ruined my summer and made me lose a little bit of faith in humanity, I do not care to know who it was. I just want my bike back.