18 Mar

On Monday night, I found myself on the phone with the police.  After spending weeks-on-end alone in London, I enjoyed my first round of house guests this week. I took one of them with me on an expedition to explore a volunteering opportunity.  The locals here keep telling me that volunteering is the best way to get to know people and make connections that could lead to employment.  Okay. I got myself invited to a Scout meeting about a mile away, and it happened to be on a night when I had company.  One of my guest, a strapping young lad, offered to go with me.  Since I was a bit apprehensive about venturing off into the night alone, I was pleased to have him along and offered my husband’s commuter bike as transport.  Off we went, zooming down through the narrow streets of London in our high-viz gear with halogen lights fastened.  It was only after we arrived at our destination that I realized I had left the key to the mega Kryptonite lock back at the house.  Feeling quite plucky, as they say here, I scoped out the surroundings, chose the light post nearest the entrance and fastened both bikes with my cable lock.

We went inside and enjoyed an hour introduction of Monty Python-esque rituals and games with teen-aged kids and then decided to head off.  As soon as we opened the front door, I saw my bike thrown to the curb and no trace of my husband’s Trek 7.5 disc-brake, fender sporting, ARGGHHH!  I stood there for a moment in disbelief, then rang the police.  While I was on the phone, I spotted the cut lock and told the dispatcher I had just found it. I half expected her to call me stupid out loud and to my face.  Instead, she were very courteous, very professional, and told me that an investigator would call me the next day.  Sure enough, as promised, I got a phone call from a detective who wanted to dust the lock for prints. Really? Yes, the London Police sent an officer to my door, dusted the lock for fingerprints, apologized for taking up my time and getting dust on my kitchen floor, and bid me goodnight.  I don’t expect they will catch the guy.  I feel certain whoever did it is quite slick and was probably trained by one of Fagan’s direct descendants.  I was reminded that I am a pretty naive girl from Alamance County way too willing to trust.  It’s probably a good thing that my loss of trust can’t be replaced, but the insurance is going to replace the bike.

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