I was recently reminded of a story from several years ago. And by several years ago, I mean the statutes of limitation have run out.

I had gone to a sports bar with Tom & B-Unit for an afternoon of college of football and beers. We were overserved, and decided to move the party to a popular nightclub for their happy hour - dollar longnecks from 4 to midnight. It’s hard to believe the club went out of business.

For some reason we abandoned the happy hour beers for Jager Bombs. Mistake.

After six or so J-Bombs, I told the crew I was walking home. Along the way, I stumbled upon a vintage car convention in the parking lot. I also noticed a bike hanging on the front of an RV. I walked over, lifted the bike up, and noticed it wasn’t locked. Mistake.

Since no one seemed to notice, I hopped on the bike, and began to peddle away. As I made my way from the parking lot to the street, my legs were moving at 100 RPM, but the bike was only going 5 miles per hour. I couldn’t figure out how to work the gears, so I just peddled fast like a doofus.

I made it home, locked the door and passed out.

The first thing I saw on Sunday Morning was the bike. The first thing I said on Sunday morning was, ”Oh boy, I did it good this time.”

The sun wasn’t up yet, so I decided the best thing to do was to put the bike next to a tree in the heart of my apartment complex, Melrose Place. I thought surely someone would take it.

Mid-morning came and the stolen bike had not been re-stolen. It just sat there, messing with my conscious.

I then decided the second best thing to do was return the bike to its rightful owner. I put it in the back of my truck, and headed back to the scene of the crime. The RV was still there, but I couldn’t find the occupants.

I asked the couple in the spot next to them, “Do you know who owns this RV?”

“Yeah, they’re inside the hotel checking out of their room,” the guy replied.

“Do you know if they had a bicycle stolen yesterday?”

“Yes, it was a mountain bike. They called the police, but I doubt they find it.”

“Well, a friend of mine got really drunk yesterday and took it. I’m here to bring it back.”

“Wow. They’ll be happy.”

I placed the bike on the rack where I had found it a day earlier. I walked back to my truck and told the guy, “Hey, don’t ever drink Jagermeister.”

“Been there, done that,” he replied.

I drove away before the bike owners returned. I had done the right thing, but didn’t see a reason to stay and risk talking to the Po Po.

I want to ride my bicycle. I want to ride my bike.

Benny

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 2nd, 2007 at 8:53 am and is filed under Benny Stories (BS). You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.