Steal my bike once, shame on you. Steal my bike twice, what the F&%$K?

I will never forget this bike, not just because it was the coolest bike around, or because it was a Mongoose way before Walmart was pedaling them for discount prices, or because it had cranks and a sprocket from a 10 speed so I could pedal half as much as my friends and cover twice the distance... but because my older brother paid for each piece and built this bike from parts...and gave it to me on my 12th birthday.

Until this day my brother and I really never had the income to trade more than a comic book or mix tape made off of the radio for birthday gifts so this present meant the world to me. I kept this bike pristine and enjoyed not only riding it and jumping homemade ramps with it but I even enjoyed cleaning it and polishing it. I mean this thing was a Cadillac in a neighborhood of Pintos. That was our first problem. It stuck out like a sore thumb and everyone wanted to ride it, especially the neighborhood hoods who'll remain nameless.(and Steve G. if you're out there I have a feeling I grew way beyond your 5'5" bully of a frame, so look me up if you're not in prison).

Fast Forward, it's nearing the end of the summer and we're all looking forward to starting 7th grade. New school, new girls, new people to impress with the power and glory of the Mongoose. It's any given summer weekday and two friends and myself decide to spend it at Showbiz Pizza. Yes, we were probably a little old for this place but it was the only arcade around.

By the time we get there we're all starving and rush to get inside, not thinking to properly lock up our bikes. Again, fast forward two hours and we're leaving. We step outside into the sun, momentarily blindness set in while my eyes adjust and I swear my bike is right where I left it. Wrong, my bike is the only bike, NOT where it was originally left two hours prior. I immediately scream in a fit of rage and curse my own existence while the fear of the beating my brother is going to bestow upon me starts to come to realization. I am in sooooo much trouble right now.

I make it home through two towns riding on the pegs of another bike. The neighborhood pro skater is out in front of my house and I tell him about my bike. He assures me he knows who stole it and we devise a plan. Now, my brother is a relatively large person at 6'4" 220lb and suposedly has intimidated the entire group of bullies without actually having any sort of confrontation or contact with them. Dave places a phone call to the supposed culprit and lets him know whose bike he stole. He doesn't believe Dave. My brother then gets on the phone and politely asks to have the bike returned, all while trying to hold back laughter seeing that he had no idea of his reputation as a tough guy.

The next morning I leave the house to find my prize Mongoose sitting on my patio in as good of a condition as I had last seen it the day before. No tears were spent, no blood was drawn, not a single person got hurt and a valuable lesson was learned- always lock up your bike when you're out riding. Nobody ever mentioned to lock it up on my own patio though. Less than a month later, the Mongoose was gone again. This time my brother let me deal with it by myself, without the help of his ferocious reputation of punishing bicycle thieves and the bike has yet to be found.

- Sean