The Chase

Warning (mainly for my parents): The following may disappoint or upset you as I realize I made a very rash and somewhat dangerous decision. Read at your own risk.

I have to be honest, so far my first (and let’s hope only) summer in Gainesville has been unremarkable. I am sure as I look back on these few months later in life many of the days will blur together and I will simply remember it as another slow, Florida summer. There was about an hour, however, tonight that I think I will remember for a while...

I had just returned from the Hipp. ride and was ruminating over what to eat for dinner when one of my friends called. I have to use my cell phone by a window because my apartment was apparently constructed to double as a dungeon (just in case the Canadians invade). I happened to choose the love seat by the front window for this particular conversation and we had just begun conversing when I suddenly heard a skirmish outside, a few feet away, at the bike racks. I look outside to see three young men, who are not residents of our apartment complex, frantically shaking a bicycle up and down and fiddling with the lock. The excitement begins...

I immediately say, “oh, f*#%. I gotta go” and hang up the phone. It’s on. By the time I unlocked and slung open my door, they had the bike unlocked. One of them sped away on the bicycle and the other two took off on foot as I managed to belt out my fiercest-sounding, “hey!” In the heat of the moment, and in memory of the free spirit, I decided it would be a good idea to sprint after them. I’ll discuss my post-danger assessment later on...

These guys were fast and even with my adrenaline pumping, years of endurance training had not prepared me for this moment. Put simply, my vain attempt at sprinting proved no match for these three pairs of crime-hardened legs. As I lost sight of them I decided to call the police. You might be thinking that this is all a lot of drama over a campus bike that isn’t even mine, but these are most likely the same jerks that stole my campus bicycle a few weeks ago, since it had the same lock on it. Secondly, no one is going to roll up in my front yard and overtly commit a crime without me having something to say about it. I dial 911 for the fourth time in my life... practice makes perfect?

The police arrive on scene surprisingly fast, but all I’m able to do is point and say, “they went that way.” Even though it had only been a few minutes, they really could have been hiding just about anywhere at this point and I realize chances of catching these thugs are slimming. I walk back down the street to my apartment complex, receive a call from the police department, describe the situation some more and try to lower my adrenaline level. Post danger assessment: Extra-dangerous. If I were to catch them, what was I to do? Three Alachua-county, male residents against me... I wouldn’t even put money on myself.

I wish I could end this story by saying justice was served, that the police took down the hooligans, returned the bicycle to my neighbor, found the free spirit and named me awesomeist person of the year. Unfortunately, I have come to the realization that part of growing up is accepting that things don’t always end the way we would like them to. I wrote a note to my neighbor explaining the situation, considered crying for him, stuck it on his door, returned home and called back my friend. Another day in Gainesville.