Stolen: Black Surly

At approx 7pm tonight my bicycle was stolen.

It was parked outside my editing studio at The Hall Gallery on SE 3rd
and Alder for 20 min. 18 more than necessary to get though the cable
lock, which was not found.

The bike is a 2004 black Surly Cross Check. There is a zoobomb sticker
on the left down tube, part of a deadbaby bikes sticker on the badge,
the Surly bike stickers are covered with electrical tape. The front
right fork has yellow reflective tape, the seat has a red reflective
strip, and there is a red reflector above the black aluminum rack
holding a single black Orlieb pannier on the right side.

The wheels are black anodized aluminum, the tires are cyclecross-style
with a reflective band.

There are Shamano drop bar-end shifters and components and a Crane Creek
headset.

My “Get Lit” headlight was on it at the time.

Thank you for your vigilance.

revphil +at+ freegeek.org
503.232.9350 – freegeek phone number. leave a msg, only answered 11am-7pm tue-sat

Subscribe
Notify of
guest

3 Comments
oldest
newest most voted
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
Anonymous
Anonymous
16 years ago

Theres a bike messenger from Transerve riding such a bike. He got it cheap.

revphil
revphil
16 years ago

Thanks to all who kept watch for my stolen bike this past month. My Duff Numba Five, a Surley Cross-Check, was what moved me everyday:

* though tones of dumpstered pizza, hummus, and office supplies
* though 30+ mph crashes, head on and behind,
* though platforms and eggbeaters,
* though abuse and more abuse

When I lost her, I was moved to scream unholy expletives at the shadows. I began to sprint frantically, hungry for another glimpse of her sleek efficient frame.

In the month that followed I received message of her existence: eyewitness accounts of a man resembling Howard Stern riding around downtown on what could be Duff#5. Multiple stakeouts with friends at SW 11th and Taylor proved fruitless. A week passes. There is no sign, no leads. Then while sitting next to my father in his SUV a biker taking his dog for a walk biked up to my window. Robin cut across Killinsworth traffic and said:

“A messenger has a black surly downtown. It’s hot! call Veloshop! Bye!”

Plenty of phone calls, interviews, stakeouts and schmoozing later I was able to talk (somewhat frantically) to the guy who bought the bike from the fence. The messenger in question was a nice chap named Abraham, who may have been a little too eager to believe “Howard Stern’s” tale of woe.

“I thought it could be stolen and I even called him out on it, but then he started telling me about how he and his ex just broke up and how he needs the money to get out of town.”

“Yeah fine… so where is the bike now?”

“It’s fine, it’s safe. Can you tell me the serial number? I could just tell you if it is yours…”

“I want to come see the bike. Even if the number isn’t right I want to see it with my eyes.”

“Well, can’t this wait until tomorrow? I mean I just got laid off, and right now I’m entertaining.”

“Tomorrow… [takes quick rapid breaths] what time?”

I can only allude to the swirling emotions that filled me in those twenty-one hours. That night I did not dream, as I had before, of riding though a wave of steel coffins, racing with me against the changing colors. Nor was I confronted by unspeakable violence towards a generic-looking bike thief. I slept with the nervousness of a child who thought he might be getting coal in his stocking.

That day I found out that Abram’s house used to be where my partner, Eleanor worked as a nanny. At that same time Free Geek passed 300,000 gizmos in its database. At that same time we were reunited. Nearly nothing had changed, although there was no rack, no pannier, no Zoobomb or Deadbaby tags. Instead a “eat gods” sticker adorned the seat tube; her wheels, her components, her scratches and dimples were back with me again. Next week we will hunt down her temporary possessor. Perhaps you want to help me?

She has returned to me.

Let it ring from the depths of the Shanghai Tunnels to the heights of Council Crest.

Let it ring from every bridge, from the Freemont “bikelane” to the Hawthorne gravel path.

Let it ring from cherubic babes in Burleys to pink n black minxes on minis.

Let it ring for those stuck in traffic yearning to escape, and those flowing though traffic as escape.

Let it ring and ring true in the pounding chest of every being for whom the independence of self-mobilization is exhilaration incarnate.

Duff#5 is come

Glory be to wisdom, for wisdom guides when I listen to my friends.
Glory be to vigilance, for vigilance is a burning reminder.
Glory be to hope, for hope I had lost, though others did not.
Glory be to community, for community takes care of itself.

Duff#5 is come

rev

Anonymous
Anonymous
16 years ago

i know the guy you’re looking for.
his name is nick.
you can find him hangin downtown a lot.
sometimes by the library or at the downtown y. good luck.