Bug Bites and Bicycle Thieves

Between the two, I don't know which is more despicable. A bug is just doing his natural born function, one cannot really fault him. Or at worst it is a case of mistaken identity. With bicycle thieves, well, it is a case for Encyclopedia Brown. 

I don't remember much, just the facts, ma'am. I was in Harold's backyard, admiring some of the cement work and taking note of a few insects that were roaming around doing insect things. I saw one that looked suspiciously like the biting little bastard who I suspected of chomping on my eyelid, giving me that nasty chalazione last October. 

Yeah, I never forget a biter. It was a little creepy guy with an armadillo-like exoskeleton and at least 6 legs. The closest I could find was a mealy bug, when I googled it last year. Anyway, I was noticing he had some in his backyard and was mentioning the fact just as one chomped down on my arm, confirming that it was, indeed, one the very same species. Not much came of it, and I proceeded to the next scene.

I was riding my bicycle around in Durham, or somewhere very Durham-like. It had that flat, farm-based feel to it and, although it was Chico-adjacent, it was stuck in some timeless era of old gas pumps and rustic implements of husbandry. I was riding along, just taking in the scenery. It was a nice spring day, you know, lots of green grass being grazed, birds and butterflies flitting about and all that. 

I stopped to help unload a giant dump trailer that had an enormous bag of feed in its bed. The bag was probably 40 feet long and took up the entire bed. All that was left were a few crumbles of some senior horse pellets, the nice smelling molassesy kind, in the bottom of the torn open bag. I thought I'd do the farmers a favor and fold up the giant bag for them. 

Well, as all good deeds, this was not without consequence. While I was distracted folding the bag, a family of bicycle thieves surreptitiously stole my alien green Specialized Stumpjumper. I should have known better than to take my eyes, much less my keister, off it for a minute. 

The temptation must have been too much for these hoodlums, because they lifted it with me standing right there. The father rode off on it, with me cursing and chasing him down the road in hot pursuit. I saw him ride into a building that was a part of the Chico State campus where a photography class was being taught. 

I inquired around and found out that the bike thief dad was a student there. Great. It should be pretty easy to track him down. He'd have to ditch the bike and certainly wouldn't be able to be caught riding it, now that I was onto him. 

"Why do people do things like that?" I asked Triple Four, my old CB neighbor. "They steal things that they won't be able to use unless they go somewhere like Mexico or Oregon." 

I really couldn't get inside the mind of a thief and wasn't aware of the lucrative resale opportunities available for stolen bicycles. I just assumed it was like the automotive world where VIN numbers made identification and retrieval of stolen vehicles a breeze. 

Uh, yeah, because that happens. Cars are always reunited with their owners after a brief joyride, right? I couldn't imagine the bike being stripped, sanded and rebranded. Not my lovely bike. 

Between the bug bites and the thievery, I was mad enough to not want to stay asleep any longer. I mean, I could wake up and have either happen to me quite easily, why dream about it?