A Stolen Bike and a Call to Action

The last time she saw him was the morning of Wednesday, Dec. 28. He was leaning against the wall in the parking lot of their apartment building when she bid him farewell before heading out for a tune-up.

By the next day, he was gone.

"She" is my champagne-colored Nuovo Sport bicycle. "He" is (or was) my husband's orange Trek road bike.  They'd been locked together since we moved to Valley Village in late October, and they seemed to be doing just fine hanging out in my parking space in the small, covered lot behind our apartment. I'd dropped my bike off at a local shop for a tune-up, leaving his all alone, but with a lock fastened through the back wheel and frame.

Even with an ungated driveway, we assumed the bike would be safe at our apartment. I pulled out of my parking spot the next morning with his bike in full view. When I came back home from work that evening, Mr. Orange Trek was nowhere to be seen.

We’re just as much to blame for the snatched bike as its kidnapper. We were well aware of the daily trash pickers who come a couple times a day to sort through our giant steel dumpster, leaving their unwanted items on the ground and the bin’s lid wide open for the next guy. While we can’t confirm who may have been the perpetrator, I admit it was naïve of us to assume nobody would bother taking a bike at a private residence with a lock through its wheel, unchained to anything stable. I had wrongly assumed if anyone was eyeing the potentially free ride, they'd realize the chain in the wheel would keep them from easily pedaling away into the sunset.

The case of the stolen orange bicycle convinced me it was time to take responsibility for Ms. Nuovo Sport. Fast-forward to two weeks later: I’m at the off Burbank Boulevard, where I'm clutching a three-by-five-inch index card with a hand-written list of all my bike’s info — everything from its serial number to the frame size to the brand of its brakes. On my way in, I notice a red mountain bike parked — and unlocked — right outside the station's front doors.

"I'm here to register my bike. Is that something I can do here?" I ask at the front desk. I'm helped my Officer Dominik, a dark-haired, mustached man with a tough-but-still-friendly-if-you’re-on-his-good-side edge. He tells me he's not sure if the bicycle registration program is still offered, so he calls the Community Relations department, which refers him to someone else.

"What do you mean 'You don't know'?" he responds, somewhat irritated at the person on the other line. Of course, the new guy in the office answers the phone, he jokes. After being transferred to yet another person, he finally gets an answer — the bicycle license program has been put on hold. I then vaguely remember the L.A. City Council had voted in 2009 to suspend the program.

Though the department no longer has the program, Officer Dominik tells me it's still a good idea to know my bike's serial number.

"Ninety percent of people who get their bikes stolen don't know the serial number," he says.

My husband is part of the majority of the unfortunate bike bandit victims. Despite not having his serial number, I urge him to file a report anyway.

When I tell Officer Dominik about our lost bike, he tells me we should also try searching for it on eBay or Craigslist, or call nearby bike shops. Smart thieves might not stay local, so he also recommends checking out other counties' Craigslist sites.

He tells me it's still important for people to file a theft report for a stolen bike, even if they don't know the serial number. It's also not impossible for bikes to be recovered, he says.

"A kid got his bike stolen by some gangbangers" not too long ago, he tells me. Two days later, a detective found it at a shop near Victory and Van Nuys boulevards.

Sadly, bike thefts have been a growing trend in the area. In May of last year, the LAPD North Hollywood Division of an increase in bike thefts. At a September Mid-Town NoHo Neighborhood Council meeting, Senior Lead Officer John Catalano had been stolen since the beginning of that year, but that theft reports had declined significantly as a result of two arrests made in connection with the problem.

I'd posted flyers around our neighborhood with "LOST BICYCLE!" emblazoned at the top and little pull tabs with our contact info. Judging by the number of torn-off tabs, I know at least three people are on the lookout for an orange bike. But it's been two weeks since the signs were posted, and I may need to take them down soon so as not to create a public nuisance on our local telephone poles. We're also registering the missing bike at Stolenbicycleregistry.com, where it's free to list your kidnapped wheels on the online database. So far, the odds of recovering the bike don't seem to be in our favor, but we figure doing something is better than nothing.

For now, I'm registering my bike at NationalBikeRegistry.com, where $10 buys you the peace of mind that your wheels could possibly be found if it's stolen within the next 10 years.

As I leave the police station bike license-less, I notice a flyer on the lightpost next to the driveway. Somewhere out there is a lost and lonely baby blue beach cruiser, hoping — like so many unfortunate others — to be returned to its rightful owner.