Today we returned home from Dunmore East–yes, we hope this is the last time that Jenn has to do that four hour return trip on Sunday afternoons–to find my bike wasn’t locked/chained to the railing by our apartment steps.  In fact, the lock was neatly cut and hanging on the handlebars of the bike; what’s more, both rubber hand grips were gone from the handlebars.

As any devoted disciple of Arthur Conan Doyle and G. K. Chesterton could tell you, to catch a thief one must think like a thief.  Let’s think like thieves, presumably early this morning, and there’s a good chance that they were at a pub a some recent point before early this morning.

Here’s a bike.  Give me the boltcuttersWait, shine the light on this thing.  *&$^#%! [This is an inevitable aspect of the aftermath of ale.] This bike is awful!  Cut the lock but hang it on the handlebars–we’re not taking that bike.  That’ll teach the bloke not to leave such lean pickings for us.

And then, some practical joker among the bunch decides to take the only thing that was still in good shape–the rubber hand grips.

This post is not under the category of Irish Culture.  Although I have heard stealing bikes is a hobby among a subset of the local population, without exception, the subset of the local population whom we’ve met have all been “lufly.”  Mom, Grandma, and whoever else is reading this, Dublin is quite a safe city–if you’re not a bike.

And that’ll learn me!  My bike, which one of my friends got for me at a city dump, is honestly the worst bike I’ve ever ridden.  But it wasn’t stolen!  The only thing I lost was a rather insignificant 7 euro eBay-from-UK bike lock.  I’m sure there are more locks to be had. 🙂