My Universe Story

Everyone seems to have one, a story about how something intervened and the impossible was suddenly possible. Here's mine:

A few weeks ago I parked my racing bike in the garage of our condo. I didn't lock it up. I have to explain that the garage is 'secured' with video cameras and a owner/renter only garage door opener, so the idea that the premises are safe exists...however, I soon learn that the cameras are not working nor have they worked in some time. Nice.

Obviously, someone stole my bike. It is bright green and I noticed right away that it was gone.

My fault for not locking it up? Many would think so. Me, I didn't accept that. I pretty much exhausted myself trying to find a way out of being responsible for its loss.

I wrote the security company. I blamed them for not having the cameras working. I wrote the owner of the condo. I called the police and filed a report. I cried. I called the detective assigned to the 'case' and insisted that he call me back and tell me how I'm supposed to help him find the bike? He laughed at me. I called the bike shops in town and asked if they had seen a bright green Bianchi around, and would they call me if someone tried to sell it?

I searched Ebay and Craiglist for any sign of the bike, I even looked at the parts that people were selling in case somehow the person dismantled the bike and was selling it off in pieces. I boo hooed and said that it was the last straw, that I wanted to leave New Orleans for good this time, too many things had been stolen and I was sick of the crime and sick of the desperate measures. I even looked up real estate in Colorado.

After a week or two, I finally gave up. I realized that it was gone and basically there was no one to blame except for myself. I also recalled that I had a few bikes stolen in my life, all for the same reasons.

It seemed as though that day, when I found myself accepting that it was just my fault, I received a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. It was a young man who said, "Hey, I think I might have your bike. You had a bike stolen?" My heart dropped into my chest!

He continued to tell me the story of how he had seen the sign over at the Iron Rail, and that evening was at a show at One Eyed Jacks and sees this guy really drunk, falling all over the place, riding none other than a bright green Bianchi bike! So once the drunk gets off the bike, he and his friend sneak over and wheel it away from him and he doesn't even notice! He takes it home and locks it up, and the next day calls the phone number on the sign.

I couldn't believe it. He says it's at his friends house in the 9th ward, that I can come pick it up if I want but I need to hurry because he has to go to work.

I quickly ask for the address and he tells me it's a purple house with orange trim. I call the police for help. I ask them to meet me at the address, please, just in case. I call back a second time to make sure a policeman is there and they assure us that someone is at the location.

I arrive at the house and guess what? No police. At least they are consistent.

A hand emerges from between the slats in the fence and waves me forward. I approach the gate and a guy in his late 20's with orange hair and smudgy eyeliner unlocks the gate and motions to the bike leaning up against the house.

"Is this your bike?", he asks.

For a minute, I'm not sure! It's fairly grimy and dirty and has lots of scuffs and a tear in the handlebars and a tear in the seat. But I look at the label, the color, the Campagnolo parts...

"Yes, that's my bike," I say.

He wheels it over and puts it in my hands. I give him a big hug and I think he is embarrassed.

"No big deal, " he says.

I put some money in his palm and say, "I want to give this to you because I'm so happy that I have my bike back and you really helped me, thank you so much."

He takes the money begrudgingly and says,"Well, I'll share it with my friend then. Thanks."

I take the bike back to the car and drive it home in amazement.

I call the bike shop downtown to find out about a sign on an iron rail with my phone number and a description of the bike (how bizarre). The Iron Rail turns out to be a bookstore that is next to the Bike Project Plan B downtown, she says she knew that someone from the shop saw the sign and saw the bike...she's glad I have it back. I tell her to pass the word along to keep doing what they're doing.

My friend Julie says that it's one of the best Universe stories she's ever heard. She says that once I let go of the bike, it came back to me.

Perhaps this works with other things...All I can say is that I will certainly try to put what I've learned into practice.