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Was $1500; Now Yours for Sixty Bucks Two weeks ago I was walking back from the bus stop on Hawthorne and 34th, lamenting that my old bike was on its last legs and new bikes are so expensive. I knew if I waited patiently enough, the right bike would come my way, and on that summer Tuesday afternoon, it did. Chained up outside Imelda's shoes was a red and black Redline cyclocross bike with a cardboard sign "For Sale $60. Call Benjamin". I tested the weight: Two fingers were all it took. The frame was a bit big, but this was the bike for me. I called Benjamin at the number provided on the cardboard sign, and we arranged to meet in 15 minutes at the bike. I ran home and raided the change jar to make up sixty bucks, and at 8pm I was back at the bike. "You made it" said a large jovial white guy, youngish beard, baseball hat, basketball shorts, "right on." He unlocked the bike, and I gave it a spin round the block. "No need for your license or anything, said Benjamin, "I trust you." The bike was sweet. I've never felt such acceleration. Brake shifters, toe clips, Shimano 105 derailleur. Nice bike. When I got back round the block, Benjamin volunteered why he was selling such a fine vehicle so cheap. Seems it was worth $300, but he'd hurt his back, and his wife said he had to sell quickly. In fact it had only been on the street 15 minutes when I called, and he'd already received another call since I first talked to him. I gave him the $60, he signed the Bill of Sale I'd prepared, and home I wrote. When I got home, I googled "redline conquest portland" to get the price I should have paid had I not found the bargain of the century and find a local dealer so I could get a shorter stem. My heart sank. The first listing's serial didn't match, but the other one was on the ball except for the saddle and the handle bar tape. I held on for a couple days, but each night I looked at the listing again. I had a stolen bike and its owner missed it. In a fit of conscience, I left a message for Quinton, the erstwhile owner. An excited voice called me back and we made a meet. He passed the tests: missing screw here, bad 3rd and 4th gear, the color of the handlebars under the black electrical tape. It was his bike.
The next day I got a call from Officer Ghandi* of the Portland police. Quinton had given him my details and he was following up with me. The case was closed though, because Officer G had called Benjamin, and while confirming his name, Benjamin said he knew nothing about a stolen bike. "That's it?" I asked, "You have a stolen bike, the original owner, the person who bought it, a signed bill of sale, the name, description and phone number of the person who sold the stolen bike and that's not enough? What more do you need?" "Well, we'd need probable cause to get a warrant for an address, and Benjamin could have been using anyone's phone." I pointed out that anytime anyone called, Benjamin answered the phone, but Officer Ghandi was firm: there was not enough evidence for the Portland Police Department to act. Fortunately, as I mentioned last month, street justice prevails. Quinton put Benjamin's description out on the social wire, and it came back positive. Turns out they were both at the same party, and Benjamin grabbed the bike in one of those crimes-of-opportunity. The street justice league tracked him down, mentioned the parole violations he was facing and how he'd best make restitutions and make them quick. Benjamin was sorry. And nervous as he is on parole and he does have kids. And probably his wife doesn't need this kind of hassle. To make up, Benjamin gave Quinton $300 for the inconvenience. Quinton gave me $100 to say thanks, and the Portland Police department didn't give anything at all. So what did we learn? Just this week, Willamette Week determined you can steal a bike without anyone calling the police. Now we know you can call the cops too, it still won't get your bike back. The END. *Crazily, names have not been changed. His name really is Officer Ghandi. I guess he takes his namesake's mantra of passive resistance to heart. |
I handed it over, he kindly gave me sixty bucks. I also gave him Benjamin's phone number and the bill of sale Benjamin had signed. You've never seen a happier cyclist, or a less happy buyer of a sweet $60 cyclocross bike that he had to give back.
