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HOW TO STEAL A BIKE
Cable Lock
If your bike is secured with a cable lock (a coil
of braided steel cable in a rubber sheath) a thief
will be able to ride off on it with less effort
than it would have taken you to unlock it yourself.
The thief’s method of choice is to keep
a heavy-duty set of bolt cutters in a backpack,
slide the blades out as they approach your ride,
and shear the cable with one good squeeze of the
(still concealed) handles. This type of lock is,
without exception, hopeless. Instead of looking
for a thicker gauge cable or higher quality steel,
you’re best to opt for a high-end u-type
lock.
U-Lock
Not all u-locks are created equal. As always,
you get what you pay for, though there are some
things to look for that have little to do with
price. U-locks come in two pieces: a u-bar and
a crossbar. The locking cylinder is fitted either
into the end of the crossbar or in the middle.
If it’s in the end, and the crossbar sticks
out too far past the u-section, a thief will be
able to slide a heavy pipe over the end and use
the leverage to bend the crossbar and break the
locking cylinder inside. Avoid u-locks with locking
cylinders fitted in the end of the crossbar or
you’re asking for it. A heavy, compact lock
with a short crossbar will deter most thieves,
but if you really don’t want to lose your
wheels, get an NYC chain.
NYC Chain
Your bike is locked to a rack in the secure bike
storage room of your condo parking lot using a
hundred-dollar New York-style chain. It’s
got a double deadbolt locking cylinder with a
hardened steel sleeve and it’s made of triple-heated
boron manganese steel. Safe, right? Nope. If a
thief can get into your bike locker (and he can)
if he’s got all night to cut through your
fancy lock with power tools. Store your bike in
your home. No—by your bedside. Never let
it out of your sight. You live in Vancouver; your
choices, ultimately, are to surrender your two-wheeled
fate to chance or surrender your mental health
to paranoia.—David Godsall
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Hot Wheels — Page 2
The recycling centre crowd testifies to
the marriage between bike theft and drugs. A conga line
of vagrants offers nirvana to passers-by in single-word
utterances—valium, meth, weed, rock—verbless
hushed whispers, so it’s hard to tell if they
are buying, selling, or just letting you know exactly
what they stand for. I recognize Mike, who has offered
me meth on several occasions, today brandishing a fairly
high-end mountain bike. He greets me with his catchphrase—“hey
man”—and rolls the bike almost seductively
towards me.
Mike resembles a surfer who has been living under the
waves for too long: perfect teeth, blond feathered hair,
and just a touch of green to his skin that makes me
think of algae. He’s a Hastings regular, walking
in long, exaggerated strides up and down the sidewalk
in a black leather jacket and jeans, a wild tweaker
look in his eyes. When I ask for his name, he turns
without a word and walks away, cradling his bike like
it was a fur coat and he is trying to quietly escape
a PETA rally.
Mike (like Susan, not his real name) clearly didn’t
want to be my friend. I don’t blame him. If you’re
involved in bike theft, you should be suspicious of
anyone who wants to get to know you better. Cyclists
believe that bike thieves have earned their own special
place in hell, describing them in terms usually reserved
for doers of unthinkable deeds—child molesters,
rapists, and Americans who voted for Ralph Nader in
2004.
Though bike theft is a property crime, that doesn’t
begin to cover the violation felt by its victims. In
Robert Alstead’s documentary on the Vancouver
bike community, You Never Bike Alone, the word “freedom”
resonates chorus-like from bikers asked to sum up the
biking experience.
When a bike is taken, the metal and rubber fetch a small
price, but the confiscated freedom is lost to the ether.
Except in the case of high-end race bikes—less
than one percent of the bicycles stolen in Vancouver—money
isn’t the issue. On the rare occasion that a bike
is recovered, the owner often has to pay to get it back,
and is usually happy to do so.
“It’s like a musical instrument,”
says Dan Atkinson, who performs bike makeovers at Dan’s
Bike Shop in Kits. “It picks up your vibes, it
becomes an extension, a part of you. When somebody takes
it, it’s like they’ve stolen your arm.”
That’s why people like Scott Schneider are folk
heroes in the bike community. Last year, while explaining
to a bank teller why he was watching his bike out the
window (he didn’t have a lock), he noticed someone
eyeing his wheels. “I barely got the words out
of my mouth,” he says, “when a guy stopped
at my bike, looked left and right, then started riding
away with it.”
Schneider charged out of the bank and tackled the man
in the middle of the road, pinning him below the bike
and screaming at him—with visions of two previous
thefts flashing through his head—“You stole
my bike! You stole my bike!” Point made, Scott
released the man, who offered a simple apology and slinked
off while onlookers applauded.
Though Schneider rescued his bike (and
gained a durable party story), the benefits of confronting
a thief are outweighed by the risks. He might have been
up against someone like Ian, who cruises Hastings on
a different bike every week. Ian is one of the few subjects
I’ve observed who actually sits on the bike, pushing
it around like Fred Flintstone, his feet never touching
the peddles. Gaunt, with few teeth, a scraggly beard,
and a black track suit, Ian never offers me a chance
to purchase, no matter how many times I stroll by. Without
invitation, I dare not confront him—some people
just look like they have nothing to lose.
To avoid such risks, Stephen Gaudet, a
victim of multiple thefts, recommends a collective approach.
“I’d like to see a group of people form
an arsenal of bike vigilantes,” he says, “so
anytime you had a free evening, you’d put on your
trenchcoat, your mexican wrestler mask and your fedora,
grab your pillowcase full of oranges and hit the streets,
spreading fear into the hearts of those scumbags. I
think if you get enough people doing it, it can be a
force to be reckoned with.”
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