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Bike riding through Brooklyn is an activity with which I have only recently become comfortable. Possessing a nervous disposition to begin with, I associated riding a bicycle through the city with inevitably dangerous consequences. As if one slight waver down a narrow street would find me on top of an unsuspecting windshield or spiraling across a driver’s door swinging open in front of me. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.

But two years ago, Charlie found a vintage, maroon huffy on the side of a Pennsylvania road with my name written all over it. He brought it back to Brooklyn and taught me how to be a street-smart, urban biker.

This past Sunday morning, we walked outside to discover that someone had stolen my bike. Cut the metal lock and left no trace that it had ever been resting against that street sign. We’ve been scouring the streets ever since, doing double-takes on every bike that is chained to a pole or a fence or a tree.

We just got back from Cape Cod where we spent a few days soaking up the sun. I promise to post a few photos once the sting of my bike theft wears off. But for now, I’m reminiscing about my last ride through the dunes of Provincetown.

Bike thief, if you’re out there, do the right thing. Bring that bike back to the corner where you found it.

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