It didn’t matter how many times I looked. My bike was gone. My heart: broken.
Dolly Llama is a 2010 Pocket Llama I had custom-built for me. I was so proud of her. Performance that Packs with my name emblazoned on the side. She and I rode from Seattle to Portland. Then countless miles over Salt Lake City roads…my boys in tow. But all seemed lost that August morning, as I stood in front of the empty spot my bike once occupied.
We had been riding the 999. Think of it as almost a critical mass ride, with hundreds (sometimes thousands) of cyclists taking to the streets of Salt Lake City after 10pm every Thursday night. A good friend asked to borrow Dolly Llama for the ride and I had no objections. I own a mobile bicycle repair company in Salt Lake City so I have lots of bikes to ride and Dolly Llama just happened to fit my buddy Johnny. The ride was great. I don’t even remember where we rode that Thursday night, but we worked up an appetite and my friends and I decided to go to a local pizza slice place for some grub. After that, we walked into the bar next door. No one locked any of our bikes.This was common practice. The streets are typically pretty crowded with people so we felt safe. We’d done this before.
The video from the Pie Hole showed it all real clear: Unidentified white male, walks up to the bus stop at Exchange Place, sits and looks around for a little while. Four minutes later, he stands, walks toward my bike and rides away on Dolly Llama.
“Seth, your bike is gone.”
Those words reverberated in my skull. I went through my stages of grief, spending a good portion of time in disbelief then anger. “What kind of turd steals a bike with someone’s name written on it?”
Over the next few days I went through the motions…filing out police reports, sending in the evidence we collected showing this monster riding away on my baby. I posted on Facebook and Instagram. I called Bike Friday to get my serial number. I did everything I could.
Days turned into weeks. Every time I drove through the park I kept my eyes peeled for my distinctive, glacier Pocket Llama. No luck. I gave up hope of ever seeing the bike again.
Salt Lake City has a pretty healthy bike culture. We’re minutes from the mountains, so mountain biking is big, and with a reasonably long biking season there’s no reason not to bike commute. The city also has great infrastructure for biking, including many urban paths and a neighborhood Bicycle Collective that takes bicycle donations, then fixes those bikes up for sale to the community. They also provide a space for people to maintain and work on their own bikes at no cost.
When Owen at the Bicycle Collective called me that first week in October, I didn’t answer my phone. But the message he left changed my whole world. “Seth, it’s Owen from the Bicycle Collective. We have a bicycle here with your name…” I don’t even remember the rest of what he said. I was on my way to the Collective.
At the collective, I finally met Owen. He asked me if I was the owner of Apocalypse Bikes in Salt Lake City, which I am. Then he told me that we have a few mutual Facebook friends. That’s how he was able to find me, he said. Well, that and my name on the side of the bike.
Then he went in the back. I held my breath. My baby was found.
Turns out, Dolly Llama prolly changed hands a number of times in the two months she was gone. Until someone finally left her on a Utah Transit Authority train long enough to be considered abandoned. Dolly Llama then made her way to the Collective and my man Owen.
During her time away, she seemed pretty well taken care of. The bike was rideable with a little tune-up. Someone had attached a tool pouch on the rear rack. And a couple of stickers on the front fender.
But no one scraped off my name.
So, my lesson…lock your bike. But more than that, it takes a village sometimes. Thank you to my friends and family who spent time helping me file reports and gather evidence. Thank you, UTA. And thank you Owen at The Bicycle Collective!!
Here’s to MANY more miles of happy, safe riding!
Thanks,
Seth Parsons
