The Tale of Tim's Bike

Marina, California, about 1982-1984:

Tim left his bike outside our home and when he went to get it, it was gone. Apparently, someone stole it because bikes just don't roll away without someone pushing or pedaling them. It was distinctive enough, that every time we went somewhere, we looked for Tim's bike.

Just when we'd about given up and accepted the fact the bike was gone forever, we were driving down one of the streets of Marina on the other side of the highway. We passed an apartment complex and spotted a soldier riding a bike across the parking lot.

Tim said, "Hey! That's my bike!" I immediately turned our van around, pulled into the parking lot, shut off the engine, and jumped out.

I stopped the guy on the bike and said, "Excuse me." He got off the bike and stood up. He was over six feet tall - a very big guy. I tipped my head back, looked up at him, and said, "Where'd you get the bike?"

He said, "It belongs to my neighbor." I said, "No, it doesn't. It belongs to my son."

Before the guy had time to think about what I said, I grabbed the bike, opened the side door on the van, shoved the bike in, got in the van, and drove away. We got it back!

Lesson Learned: I may be small, but I can still carry a big stick. Nobody messes with my kids or their stuff!