| Give Me My Bike, Punk ! 8/10/03 |
| I had just finished working on my web page at the library, and started walking out the door to leave. I went towards the spot where I locked my bike and suddenly realized that it was gone. I looked a second time and knew I wasn't seeing things. It was gone. My heart started beating rapidly and I wanted to cry inside. Looking down the sidewalk, I saw someone riding away on a bicycle. I couldn't tell if it was mine until I noticed the orange bungee on the back rack. All of a sudden I screamed "Give Me My Bike, Punk" and the chase began. The theif looked back to see if I was pursuing him. I started running towards him still yelling, "That's my bike," "Give me my bike, punk." |
| The criminal kept looking back as he made his way down and across I street, headed towards Jack In The Box, at five points. On the way, another guy yelled, "Give him his bike", but the robber kept riding on. I cut through traffic and ran down the alley in the same direction as the bike thief. I lost sight of him for a moment, but came to a clearing in the front yard of a house, next door to the Jack In The Box parking lot. Then I saw the criminal again. I started yelling to the top of my lungs, "Give me my bike, punk". He looked back one more time as he started to disappear around the corner. I was loosing him again. |
| An older man with his grandson walked out of the restaurant and heard me yelling. The man said, "Did he steal your bike"? To the top of my lungs, I yelled one more last time, "That punk stole my bike." When the older man heard this, he turned into Rambo. Running to his truck, he jumped inside, started the engine, and peeled and squeeled out of the parking lot chasing the bandit. I was breathing very rapidly and couldn't go any further, so I sat down and rested. Thoughts were running through my mind about never seeing my bike again. It was gone forever and there was nothing I could do about it. I probably would never see the criminal or the Rambo, truck guy again, either. I was all by myself, alone. |
| Distant memories of losing bikes and losing friends ran through my thoughts. All of these years, what have I done to make my life more purposeful. Who really cares. Making a Homeless website and a homeless C.D. might not be such a good idea after all. You work hard for something and it gets taken away. I feel very negative, as the sweat runs down my face, burning my eyes, and forming a black, bead, necklace around my neck. It's about 100 degrees out here. I'm very thirsty and think about guzzling down an ice cold (lime) Gatorade. Looking up, I see the older Rambo pulling into the parking lot real fast like. The passenger door opens and someone yells, "Get inside, quick". I get inside the truck and the older, Rambo, man tells me, " The police are chasing the crooked, rotten, stealing, bike thief, and their probably going to catch him too." As we quickly drive down I street, he lets me know that his son got his bike stolen awhile back and he can't stand bike thieves. |
| As we approach Mcdonald's, I see a police car with its lights flashing. When we get closer, I notice a second police car in the parking lot. I see two police officer's cuffing a large, white, male. I get out of the truck and walk over to them. The officer say's, are you the victim? I say, "Yes I am." The officer says, is this the man who stole your bike? I say, "Yes he is." After taking a report, the police officer gave me my bike back, and put the crooked, rotten, stealing, bike theif into the back of the police car. The bike theif looked very sad, but I looked very glad. I thanked the older Rambo, and shook his grandson's hand, as they started to leave in the big, brown, Chevy Truck. This man was truly an all American, Red, white, and blue. As I rode off on my bike, I could clearly see how God was looking out for me in this situation. When I thought all was lost, he restored my bike to me. By the way, I prayed to God for this bike and he gave it to me. I don't think he wants me to lose it. Do you? |