GriddleCakes

...But Bikes Always Rock.

I was sitting on the couch yesterday, doing some pre-class reading, when I heard the concussive 'POP' of a car window being broken outside of my apartment building. I sat up and looked out the window to see four people sprinting, hard, away from my car. I didn't have my glasses on and couldn't get a good look at them; they could've been teens, could've been adults. As they were out busting windows in the middle of the morning, my guess was: teens.

"Are you #$%&ing serious?!", I asked nobody as I threw on my shoes and glasses and ran down to check on the Metro. Sure enough, where there had been a driver's side window, there now was a jagged, glass-lined hole. I said a few things that ought not be repeated in polite company. The large rock sitting in the passenger seat said nothing.

From my apartment I'd seen the hooligans take off across the pedestrian overpass. I ran upstairs and grabbed my camera and my bike. I came back down and took off after the punks. Across the bridge, one can head down the embankment and onto to Northern Lights Blvd, which I'd sighted up and down as I'd crossed the bridge, so I knew they hadn't gone that way. The only other options are to dogleg left and stay with the path, which will take you by some apartment buildings and into the Turnagain neighborhoods; or to keep going straight, around some Municipal Power & Gas station thingy, and then onto the railroad and the dirt runner's trail that parallels it.

I stayed on the path and rode up to the apartment buildings, out front of which there were a few people hanging out, smoking (not the perps). I asked if they'd seen a group of teens come by, they said that they'd been out there for around 15 minutes and no one had come by. They asked why I was looking, so I told them, using language that ought not be repeated in any company (what can I say, I've working in the oil fields, I've working on a fishing boat, I've worked in kitchens; I know how to curse). The smokers chuckled as the air around by head turned blue. They commiserated with me over the state of youth today, and informed that the kids must've ducked through the woods.

Great. From the railroad, they could've doubled back along the tracks and recrossed Northern Lights. They could've kept on down the runner's trail and headed out to the Coastal Trail, at which point they might've gone right towards the lagoon, or left towards the ballfields. They could've crossed the tracks, ducked through the woods and out into the neighborhoods on the other side. Basically, my chances of finding these kids was incredibly small, but I wasn't ready to give up. I decided to cross the railroad tracks, with the hope that the punks were headed toward the high school. Not that I thought they had any interest in going to class, but that they might have friends there and it was almost lunch time.

So I rolled up Forest Park Dr, and combed the the neighborhoods between it and Hillcrest. I asked a few folks who were out working in their yards if they'd seen anything. No one had, but they all agreed with me that kids can be punks, and wished me luck. I got to the high school, and didn't see anybody resembling the four blurry figures that I'd seen running from my window. I began to realize just how pointless my mission was. I'd grabbed the camera with the thought that I'd get pictures of their faces, then threaten them with the police if they (or their parents) didn't pay for my car window. But I never saw their faces, since I only saw them as they were running away. Only one of the perps was wearing something other than non-descript dark colored clothing. As I watched a stream of kids exit the school for lunch period and mill about the parking lot, I realized that it could've been any of them. It could've been none of them.

I took off down the path along the Hillcrest exit, then headed down the Coastal Trail. I rode past the lagoon, where a bunch of ducks were raising a duckus, er, ruckus. The sun was shining, and people were out running and walking dogs or children. When I came to the point where the railroad crossed the trail, I stopped and considered heading up the runner's trail, just in case the hooligans might still be back there. I stared at the hole in the fence that led up to the railroad for a long moment, then I just let it go. I was over it.

As I rode towards the ballfields, I rationalized the situation to myself. It's just a window, on a car that I rarely drive. Sure, $230 (as I later found out) was a solid chunk of change, but it was no great hardship to me. Jellybean (that's the car) has been battered before, she'll be fine. Repairing damage, be it from regular wear and tear or from vandalism, is just part of owning a car. And dealing with vandalism is part of living in society, where people can sometimes be total jerks. But mostly, they're cool, and I'd rather live in a community than out in the woods, alone. Besides, I'm a bike commuter; it's not like I need the car to get around. The Metro had sat there for over week without moving before her window was busted, and she could easily sit there another week while the window was shipped to the glass repair place (again, as I later found out).

The sun shone off of the inlet as I rode. Southbound geese honked over head, flowers were still in bloom. At the ballfields a father was playing catch with two little boys, and if Norman Rockwell had been there, he'd have put it to canvas it was so danged wholesome. I rode out to Earthquake park and stopped for a bit to look at the water, and to watch some late season tourists posing for pictures and reading the interpretive signs. When I turned back towards home, my blood pressure had returned to normal, my head was clear of all anger and frustration, and my face was sporting a smile. Broken windows might suck, but in spite of that, life still mightily rocked.

When I rolled back onto my street and saw the broken glass lying by my car, I rolled my eyes and went inside. I called the auto glass place and scheduled a repair. Then I grabbed a broom, dustpan, and some cardboard and headed back down to the car. As I cleaned up the mess, I whistled and hummed to the music on my iPod. When I was done, I laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Then I got on my bike and went to class.

Seattle Forrest

Sorry to hear about the vandals. It sucks all the more because it's completely pointless destruction. On the other hand, I realized when a car prowler got into my car a week ago, that I'd have been a lot more upset if someone had got at my bike. Luckily, that didn't happen to you, either.

I'm surprised that you grabbed your camera and not your firearm. Are you the only person in Alaska that doesn't carry a gun? ( I did a phone interview for a software job in Anchorage once, and my interlocutor told me, unprompted, to disassemble my gun and put it in the trunk when I head north. This was in response to a discussion on database query languages. )

Riding a bike is a lot like taking a valium, but without the nasty side effects. The exercise and the time outdoors, plus some amount of effort to keep yourself from crashing, tend to melt stress away like butter.

z90

Nice story. You are a good writer, GriddleCakes

yarb

Superbly written! I just started a new job three months ago, but before that there was this 18-month limbo period where it looked like I was going to move to Anchorage - off, on, off, on, etc. I didn't really want to move my family there but it was a decent job and I suppose there was an element of adventure to it. Anyway, Griddles, you're a credit to your city and to this forum; it's always a pleasure to read your posts.

Now go load up your gun and your skidoo and bag us a moose for supper.

GriddleCakes

Possessions are just things. I'd've been more upset only because by bike, with all of its accessories, would cost considerably more to replace than my car window. On the other hand, once I'd rationalized the necessity of the replacement, I'd be be a lot more excited about buying a new bike than I'm about buying a new car window.

No, there are a few of us. I'd like to take up hunting, eventually, I might get a rifle one day; first I have to move somewhere that will allow me to have a chest freezer, which is also the reason I don't go dipnetting. I grew up with guns, they don't bother me. But I don't think that you shouldn't carry one for defense unless you've come to terms with the possibility of killing someone, and it's my personal belief that possession are not worth killing over. So, if I'd had a gun, I still wouldn't have brought it. Or, when considering bringing the theoretical gun, I'd have to face the possibility that, if I found the punks and the situation elevated, I might have to shoot someone. That alone probably would've stopped me from giving chase (which really wasn't a very good idea, honestly ).

Thanks!