The curious case of the bike in the daytime

I had only been in Dover for 5 days when my bike was stolen. My trusty friend was taken from the hostel I was staying and was gone without a trace. The most galling aspect of the robbery was that it almost certainly took place during the day, the culprit must’ve nonchalantly entered the premises and wheeled my bike out the front door, whilst I was upstairs, napping.

Once I discovered that the bike was gone, I informed Anthony (the owner of the hostel), we then began a tour of Dover in an attempt to track down the missing bike. Dover has a big homeless problem, there are far more than you would expect for a town this size and it was this ‘community’ that Anthony thought was the most likely to know something about the theft. We started at a decrepid house at the end of the road, the house was abandoned so we started to look around. We didn’t find anything but we did hear a noise from inside, so we knocked on the door and waited. Eventually, a couple of guys came to the door and Anthony explained the situation. One of the guys started to tell a story about how he had bought a bike from one of the other homeless guys earlier that day, most probably the story wasn’t true, but he was looking for the £50 that he paid for the bike, before he would return it. Before we started with the ‘negotiations’, I asked if we could see the bike just to make sure it was the correct one. He went inside and brought the bike out. It was very dark in the house and from first sight, it looked like my bike, I got quite excited, getting the bike back this quickly would be amazing. However, as he wheeled it out further, it became clear this wasn’t my bike. After declining his offer for me to buy this bike, we headed into town to talk to some other of Dovers finest. We came to a large group of homeless people in the middle of town and again explained the situation. They didn’t have any knowledge of my bike but said that they would let us know if they heard anything. “That’s a disgrace”, one woman kept saying over and over. “He’s come on holiday and someone’s nicked his bike”. Her sympathy might’ve been more believable if she wasn’t sitting right next to another bike that she had clearly stolen. Dejected, we headed back to the hostel empty handed.

A few days later, another homeless guy came to the hostel, explaining that he might be able to find my bike. For the sake of the story, we will call him Michael (that was actually his name). Michael explained that his ex-wife is a gypsie and their family had stolen 20 bikes in Dover over the past week, he was sure they would have mine. He asked me to describe the bike, as I started to explain, he interrupted, “can you write it down? I drink, and forget things”. I wrote down a detailed description of the bike and Michael was off, swaying up the road.

The theft was a real nuisance but not a disaster, I would be in Dover for a few more weeks anyway and the bike was not required, the swimming practise was keeping me plenty busy. The insurance company took great delight in telling me that the bike was not covered, despite us taking out specific insurance for this trip. “The bikes not covered?”, “No”, “well nobody told us”, “Well you didn’t ask”. Pretty much sums up insurance companies.

I didn’t hear anything about the bike for the next few weeks and to be honest I’d given up hope. Once I had finished with the swim, I really needed to get on with the next stage of the trip, so I set about ordering a new bike (the exact same model as before). I ordered the bike online so it would take a few days to arrive. A couple of days later, I randomly bumped into Michael. He said that he knew where my bike was and that he would go get it if I paid for his journey. He said that the people that had stolen it had removed all the branding from the bike as well as all of the unique features. I asked if they could provide a photo, he said this wasn’t possible. A couple of days later, Michael came to the hostel and explained that it was definitely the bike, but he would have to go that day to get it, before they sold it. He described another couple of features about the bike, this time, his description was spot on. He perfectly described what was on the handlebars and correctly explained that there was a roll of duct tape below the saddle. The duct tape detail was particularly interesting, not many people keep duct take there (in fact I’m the only person I know who does) and it is a detail that would be almost impossible to guess. He again explained that he could go that evening, get the bike and would be back with it around midnight. I asked if I could go with him but he explained that it would be too dangerous. I had a quick think, and more out of curiosity than anything else, gave him the £50 for the return journey.

In my mind, there were three likely scenarios:

1. Michael was telling the truth and what he explained was going to happen is exactly what will happen (the least likely option).
2. The bike was gone. Michael knew this. He would take the money, get steaming drunk and then return the following day with some sob story.
3. Michael was the one that initially stole the bike, he has been keeping it in Dover. He takes the £50 and brings the bike to me a few hours later (the most likely option).

Michael was quite well known in the area, he did work in some of the nearby houses, so I was relatively confident that he wouldn’t just disappear with the money, £50 really isn’t enough to warrant him to leave town.

A few hours later, once darkness had descended onto Dover, Michael returned with the bike. As he had described, the branding had been completely scratched off, but there was no mistake, this was my bike. Weirdly the water bottle holders had also been removed, but apart from that, the bike seemed to be working perfectly. A brief conversation with Michael confirmed in my mind that option 3 was indeed correct, nevertheless, I thank him for effort and he headed off up the street. I was just relieved to get my buddy back. Incredible

The next day I headed into Canterbury to get the bike checked out. I was planning to do this before heading to France anyway, but after it had been away for a few of weeks, it was definitely required. New tyres, new water bottle holders and a full MOT, the bike was working like a dream. A lonely few weeks without my travel companion was over, we were both now well rested and ready to take on the challenges ahead. Tomorrow I take the ferry across the Channel to France, a much more relaxing method than my last attempt, hopefully with more success. It’s goodbye to the English speaking world and bonjour to stage 3.