Beijing Bike Hustle

I have just realized that I left my bike at the subway station after not heading straight home after school today, and its too late to do anything about it.

Another way of saying this is, I have just donated my bike to crime. That’s ok though, crime has done a lot for me in the past, and I really like it when I get the chance to give back.

Good thing my ex-mountain bike only cost 150Y, or about $18. Tomorrow when I visit the bike store I will downgrade to a much cheaper one.

Let me describe my first trip to the bike store for you:

Three days ago my friend Annie and I head out to a street known to have a lot of bike shops and begin looking for gangsters. We immediately see a group of tough looking women who tell us, yeah, they maybe got some bikes.

We stand around awkwardly for a minute, looking around and not seeing any bikes. A second later two men pull up in a beat up grey car and tell us to get in the back.

'No way in hell,' we say, and then we get in the car.

The two men and the lady who introduced us drive us through a maze of back alleys, called hu tongs, while inquiring as to what exactly we are in the market for.

Do we want new bikes? Used bikes? Pretty bikes? Cheap bikes?

“Cheap bikes,” we say, stepping out of the car onto a dirt hu tong filled with puppies and watermelon rinds. A line of pool tables flank the street, each held down by a group of young men much like our current bike agents.

The man who drove us here, a friendly young fellow wearing his shirt tucked into his back pocket rather than on his back, leads us down a side side alley, and we wait, chitchatting about the weather and the joys of bicycling after a fresh rain. Soon the other man brings us a bike. It's a total piece and they're asking way too much. After realizing these two giggling American girls aren’t going to give them the contents of their wallets, our three bike agents get back in their car and leave without a word.

Annie and I decide to shop around and approach a pool table, asking them to direct us to a nearby bike shop.

After another hour or so of playing with puppies and browsing through bikes, I strike gold.

The proprietor of this shop is an older man posted by the side of the road with his feet on a table and his white tee shirt pulled up to show off an ample gut. He says he is closed and accepts serious offers only. He also mentions he only has new, expensive bikes, and he is not willing to open his store unless we are very serious.

I tell him I'm serious, and finally convince him to open his store. He leads me and Annie into an old brick building and down a very dark corridor with about 2 inches of standing water. A line of bricks rise above water level, upon which Annie and I hop along like trepadacious rabbits. We pass mountains of trash, a man asleep inside of a cracked doorway, and finally reach the door to the shop. The shopkeeper mumbles something about having lost the key and grabs a butcher's knife from off a table by the door.

For a second, finding Annie and myself alone with a large man wielding a butcher's knife in the dark corridor of a mostly vacant building, I think to myself, 'I might not get a receipt. I wonder if there's a return policy?'

But my doubts are unfounded. After several sharp blows with the butcher’s knife, the lock pops open to reveal the bicyclist's Ali Baba's cave. Bathed in the light of a single fluorescent bulb, an array of shiny mountain bikes and gleaming cruisers invite me to take my pick.

I test ride a few bikes before deciding on Bluey, a shiny blue mountain bike with front and rear shocks, decent brakes and smooth gears.

I ride home happy, through puddles and over curbs, Bluey as happy as I am to have been freed from the bike store.

That was three days ago. Who would have known our time together would be so short?

Tomorrow I will look for Bluey at the subway stop, but in my heart I know he is already back in a bike store, somewhere far away from me. It's my fault. I left Bluey alone in the dark, with nothing to protect him except a giant lock.

Easy come, easy go. As a friend of mine said to me, "you don't ever actually own a bike in Beijing. You just rent them."

Well Bluey, it was fun. Take care, my friend. May your wheels always spin straight and your gears always shift smooth, whoever your future riders may be. I will miss you.