The story goes that when as a kid I was presented with my first real bike with training wheels, I wanted to take it to bed with me. I cannot really remember, but it could very well be true. I like bikes. I always have and I suspect I always will.This though is a story not of my first bike. This is a story of my most recent bike.

At the beginning of the summer, Janny and I went to “open” our happy spot – our modest beach apartment located in the town of Bandol. This is all of a 45 minute drive from our home in Marseille. Our car was full of stuff including my BMC road bike. We parked, opened  the back hatch of the car and we took the first armfuls of bags and supplies down the stairs to the apartment.

I had intended to go right back up to the car to get more, but did not. I got sidetracked in opening the windows for air and moving the outdoor furniture on to the deck. It was 10 minutes tops. And this was Bandol, not Marseille.  But you know where this is going.

I walked back up to the car, looked in the back and did not see my bike. Did I put it in the car in the first place? Did I already take it out? My head was spinning. It took a few minutes standing by the car to realize that danger lurks everywhere and that my bike had been purloined.

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance

Denial of course  turned to anger and I walked down the stairs to inform Janny that we had been violated. She walked back up with me in disbelief to examine the crime scene and looked at me in disbelief and said, “You left the back of the car wide open?” As always, it was my fault, not the fault of the car burglar. I deserved it.

A series of calls quickly determined that given it was stolen out of an open (wide open) car, this was not covered by any home or auto insurance. That was that. Move on. This would  be the third career bike to be stolen and maybe a sign to just give up the sport. We did not even report it to the local constabulary. Why bother.

I skipped over bargaining other than perhaps a moment when it was suggested to me that I just bend the truth a bit to where it was stolen to get some insurance coverage. That is not something I would entertain. Everyone has their lines and generally speaking I like to stay on the right side of the insurance fraud line, especially as being an Officer of the Court.

Then depression seeped in. OFFS. No bike. The weather was perfect and I could not get out into the country on my trusty steed. I really felt down in the dumps and sad. That was a good few days.

And then of course acceptance. Ok. Bike has been stolen and so it needs to be replaced. Bike shopping! What joy! In the spring I had stopped at the local Bandol bike shop, Cycles “Mo” for new shoe cleats. The “Mo” of Cycles “Mo” was more than happy to help me while holding court for some of members of a local club who had stopped by more it appeared for a café as opposed to any repair or purchase. I figured I would go back and see what Mo could sell me, new or used.

Seeing Mo this time took a bit of organizing. This is France. Mo is closed of course over lunch hours (not hour) as well as Wednesdays, Sundays and Mondays. As I said, this is France.  I finally did thread the needle and attended during one of the open windows and while both Mo and I spoke some “Velo”, his English was even more limited than my French. I did glean though that he had a used Colnago for sale but best return with Janny to assist in any negotiation.

Janny and I planned our whole week around a further  Cycles “Mo” open window and went back to see Mo again holding court with some local club members. Janny introduced herself and started to explain that I, the trusting Canadian left the door open and someone had stolen my BMC bike the prior week. There was a palpable  moment of silence as Mo looked inquisitively to the local cyclist in his shop. He then looked at Janny and said, “Were there two Camelback bidons (bottles) on the bike?” Janny translated for me and I said, “Actually, there were.”

Cue further whispered discussion between Mo and his customer and a few moments later Mo showed me his phone and asked me if the picture I was looking at was of my bike. And indeed it was.

As the story unfolded, this is what happened.  The scoundrel who pilfered my bike hopped on the local train back to Marseille. As he was walking the bike through Gare St. Charles, the Marseille train station, an off duty police officer who was also a member of the Fellaton (as I call it) spotted him and said to himself, “Something is not right about this.” The police officer approach the scoundrel who clearly did not look like a member of the Fellaton. The police officer questioned the scoundrel as to indeed whether this much too large bike was his, to which the scoundrel swore that it was. It was only after the police officer asked the scoundrel to then demonstrate how the gears could be changed that the gig was up!

Whether the scoundrel was detained is not clear to me but what is clear is that the police officer took the bike to the main Marseille police station. Remember, we did not file a police report but the police officer knew the scoundrel came off a train that had gone through Bandol.

The police officer, utilizing the power of the Google, sent out an AFB – an All Fellaton Bulletin through WhatsApp to ask if anyone knew of a stolen BMC with white Camelback Bidons from or around Bandol.

As I always say, “Timing is everything in the life.” Within minutes Mo had connected us to the police officer and we were instructed to go to the Marseille police station to claim the bike, which we did a few days later. (Parking at the station was quite another story is always the case when parking in Marseille. My story remains we were there on “police business”.) In the reception area we sat until we were ushered upstairs to complete a full police report which in French fashion, took an eternity. But I did not complain. It was only thereafter that the officers wheeled in my bike complete with the two bidons.

 

Reunited, and it felt so good. And yes, I did ask Janny if I could take it to bed that night.