Y’all. Seriously. I feel like freaking Nancy Drew or one of the Scooby Doo crew today. I’ll get to the story, but there’s some background that you need to know first. Welcome to my personal life, rather than my observations on pop culture. Without the whole nickel tour of Dawne’s World, just know these few things:
- I am fairly awesome. I’m a non-traditional student (who often lies about her age) and have a 3.98 GPA. I work my butt off to keep the grades up. I tutor for the History department (all the 101 classes). I want to be a professor of Classics (teaching Latin, Greek, and Ancient History) when I grow up. That being said…
- I am disabled. Once upon a time, this butt-munch decided to drink and drive and hit me head on. I didn’t walk for four years, and after several surgeries and lots of rehab, I am now walking. Granted, it’s painful. I can’t walk very far. But I never thought I’d walk again. This reverts back to “See #1.”
- Because of #2, I can’t get around campus without my car. I worked my butt off to scrimp, save, and go without to afford one of those special bikes so I could maneuver campus more easily. My surgeon told me he’d kill me himself if he found out I was on a two-wheeled bike. He said NOTHING about me getting a 3-wheeler. So I did.
Let me tell you guys how freeing that was. I felt like a kid again. The wind in my hair, peddling away… I was finally able to get to parts of the campus I’d never been because of my lack of mobility. I could go anywhere.
I am reasonably pragmatic. I understand that you need to take care of your belongings. So I bought the accouterments to make myself and the bike as safe as possible. Chain grease. Bike tire pump. Safety equipment. And a very thick steel cable with a padlock to lock up my baby (who I had named “Bucephalus” after Alexander the Great’s beloved steed).
Does security always deter criminals? No. No it does not. Everyone on campus recognized me on this bike. It’s not your average bike. Besides having three wheels, it’s just fracking cute. And rather costly. Sometimes I took it home with me, but mostly I left it locked up behind the Liberal Arts Building (in what I deemed to be a safe area). I used it every day on campus and drove home in my car. Now, if you’re thinking “what kind of moron leaves their bike overnight on campus?” you’ll only be echoing my recent thoughts about myself. But let me explain. It was supposed to be secure. There are po-po on campus, and the LAB is a hotbed of activity. And everyone knew the bike was mine. AND IT WAS FREAKING LOCKED UP. So, if someone was going to steal it then they would have to have some serious industrial steel cable cutters to get through the lock.
Someone did. The first week of school. You cannot know the anger and sadness I felt. First, because someone took my shit. Second, because of what the bike cost me, what the bike meant for my mobility… it just sucked. Of course, I went to the University Police and they took down the info (serial number, pictures, et cetera). The bike shop where I bought it was notified. Pawn shops were notified. The bike was put on a national database. If it ended up anywhere and the thief attempted to sell it, BAM! Alerts. Arrests. And MAYBE I get the bike back.
Lots of friends and strangers took my Facebook post about the bike and shared it to no avail (although I utterly appreciate the help). Today, two weeks after my precious being gone, I was driving down Hardy Street. Lo and behold! I saw the freaking bike! I wheeled into the parking lot, and here is what followed. It tells the story as it happened. Suffice it to say, Facebook, the Police, and my exemplary detective work have brought Bucephalus home to me.