In keeping in the spirit of vacationing today (even though we returned home to Vancouver yesterday), Zach and I went for a bike ride. Lovely weather – nice blue skies, warm sun (almost too warm), nice breeze to help cool things off.
We rode to a sporting goods store to see about getting some new pedals for my bike. It’s a mountain bike with clipless pedals, but I haven’t done any trail riding in a couple of years. I wanted to pick up a pair of flat platform pedals.
The only ones the store had were meant for hard-core folks: ragged metal spikes on the edges. Just the thing that would shred my shins or calves if my foot slipped off the pedal. No thanks. I’ll order something more sane online.
So we headed over to a food mart / gas station to grab an Icee. The gas pumps were crowded, but there wasn’t a line inside. We popped inside, filled our cups, paid (no line, no waiting) and walked back outside to… no bikes.
We looked around, thinking someone might have moved them. Nope. A guy from the attached car wash came around the corner… “Did you guys lose your bikes?”
He saw a couple of guys around the back of the shop, throwing the bikes over the retaining wall and scampering away. “I knew they stole those bikes!”
Yep. A couple of guys and a gal were sitting in a car as we parked our bikes by the front door. Zach saw the car – an older Honda, dark blue, in pretty rough shape – and noticed the people inside: a guy without a shirt, another guy with a shirt on, and a gal.
The car wash guy described the two guys who lifted the bikes – the same guys from the car. We walked inside and asked if they had a security tape, hoping it might have caught them in action. The car wash guy and the manager came back in a few minutes… no luck. Crap!
In the meantime, one of the customers drove around the block, looking for the guys on the bikes. No luck. They got away.
Who would have imagined? Broad daylight. Both sides of all 5 pumps were being used. Most of the cars were facing the front of the food mart. The bikes were right beside the front door. And a couple of creeps made off with them!
The car wash guy described the dudes to us and to the manager again – skinny pale guy with no shirt, and the other guy a bit taller and a bit of a tan.
“Ah, tweekers,” the manager said.
“Tweekers. Crystal meth users. Probably going to run the bikes across the river to a pawn shop.”
I called my wife and we went driving through an apartment complex nearby, hoping the guys might have dropped the bikes off somewhere after a joy ride. We stopped when we saw some construction workers, asking them if they’d seen a couple of guys ride by on bikes – one tall guy, another one pale & skinny without a shirt.
“Tweekers,” he said. They hadn’t seen anyone riding by…
Gone in 60 seconds. At least they didn’t get a new pair of $15 pedals in the process. (But if they had, I would have only hoped the jerk shredded his legs on the jagged edges as they raced away. I could have tracked them by the drops of blood.)
So that’s the new word for today: “tweekers.” Some people call them crystal meth users. I call them assholes.