Lost: The Story of a Bike and a Nosy Bystander

I have previously written how much I enjoy my daily two-wheeled commute, despite the constant peril in the bike lane and the additional exposure to Beijing's toxic air. Even now that it takes some seriously creative engineering to determine the correct distribution of layers to both survive the morning cold and arrive to work looking at least somewhat professional, I am willing to do what it takes to ride to work.

Imagine my frustration, then, when I walked into the parking garage, excited for my first day back to work after two weeks in the States, and found my bike was missing. I searched the two bike racks by our entrance and walked the parking lot looking for a security guard, to no avail. The driver of the illegal taxi I grabbed to try to make it to work on time said, check Building 9. If you didn't use your bike for two weeks, they probably moved it to Building 9.

Sadly, the cluttered repository in Building 9 did not have my bike. I was chagrined, especially considering I definitely shared some blame for the loss. With the nice SUVs, high end vehicles, motorcycles, and other, much more expensive bikes parked in the garage, I had assumed there would be no reason for anyone to steal my bike, so I was not 100% diligent about locking it up. Clearly, I was not thinking about the scourge of bike theft in Beijing, as reported in this China Daily article. The author notes, "That 3,686 people have so far this year been caught stealing bicycles speaks volumes about the efforts of the local public security departments."

After a frustrating week of taxi-ing to work, I was relieved when the weekend came and I had time to buy a new bike. I headed to Carrefour, where I had originally purchased my 289 RMB bike at the discounted price of 189 RMB - plus, of course, the price of a basket, lock, bell, and light.

That I went to Carrefour on a Sunday afternoon, by the way, speaks volumes about my desire to have a bike. It's dangerous in there. Picture the grocery store snack food aisle the morning before the Superbowl, the toy store on Christmas Eve when it finally gets a shipment of Nintendo Wiis, teenagers vying for autographs from the Harry Potter actors. This is Carrefour, every weekend. From liver to auto accessories, you can get what you need at Carrefour - if you can survive the crowd.

It took me about 10 minutes to make my way to the bicycle section on the third floor. I
browsed the bicycle section, looking for the least expensive item that seems sturdy enough to survive the rigors of my commute, namely, getting up the ramp out of the parking lot and getting hit by other bikers without stopping. Two salesmen in yellow work suits watched me, and muttered about whether I might or might not understand Chinese. I settled on a 99 RMB number that one salesman said was too cheap for me. I replied my last one had been stolen and he nodded with an understanding sigh.

I tested the bike, dodging customers and carts in the mops & buckets aisle, the hats & jackets aisle, and the children's musical instruments section, which are all sensibly located around the bicycle department. As I returned to the bike salesman and told him I would need the handlebars and the seat raised, a 50-ish man in a slightly crumpled, mismatched brown suit appeared and started giving orders. First, he told me to get a more expensive bike, to which the salesman responded, she doesn't want to spend too much money because it will get stolen. Then, he told the salesman to raise the handlebars and put air in the tires.

I didn't know who this man was, and I didn't particularly appreciate him inserting himself into my bicycle transaction, but it was in fact time for the salesman to adjust the handlebars and tires, so I ignored it. You would be amazed how long it takes to adjust some handles bars and inflate tires in a busy Carrefour, and I was convinced this random brown-suited man was delaying the whole process. I pointedly ignored him as he attempted to advise me on what basket and lock to purchase (I was taking the lock more seriously this time than last), so he devoted himself to bossing around the salesman.

Almost minutes later, the bike was ready for me to test again. As soon as I climbed on it, I said, "You haven't raised the seat yet." The salesman replied, "Oh, the seat can't be raised on this model." I nearly lost my head, "But the FIRST thing I said was that I needed the handlebars and seat raised!" To which the salesman responded, "The seat can't be raised," and the brown suit guy chimed in, "He's right, it can't be raised."

I tried to explain that while I was annoyed that the seat couldn't be raised, what I was most bothered by is that because they failed to listen to me when I told them what I needed, I had just wasted over half an hour in their crowed, noisy, stuffy store. The brown suit then ordered the salesman to raise the seat - even though it couldn't be done - to show me that it couldn't be done. Moments later, we were in a shouting match, the brown suit and I, both tugging on the bike and telling the other to let go, as he insisted he could show me that the seat could not be raised and I insisted the last thing I wanted in the world was to watch him and the salesman futilely attempt to achieve the impossible task of raising the seat just to prove to me that I was wrong about wanting a bike with a seat at the appropriate height.

As you can image, we attracted onlookers. Finally, the salesman told the brown suit, she doesn't want to see me raise the seat. "Who is this guy?" I asked the salesman, but I got no reply. I was ready to ditch the store and go home without a bike, but how would I get home if I didn't buy a bike? With the throngs of people pouring out of Carrefour on a Sunday afternoon, it could be an hour wait for a taxi.

I sullenly refused to talk to anyone as I again browsed the section for a new bicycle. Brown suit man would not take a hint, however. And by hint, I mean, my turning to him and snapping, "I do not want to listen to you! Leave me alone!" as he gave me unsolicited advice about which bike to buy. He said, "But I'm just trying to tell you the right bike to get," until the salesman finally came over and repeated to him, "She does not want to listen to you. She wants you to leave her alone." at which point the brown suit shuffled off to the other end of the bicycle section to watch from a safe distance.

Finally, I saw it, for 289 RMB (plus the price of basket, bell, light, and lock). The same model bike I had originally lost. The one I knew could be adjusted to my height. And could fit the basket, bell, and light I liked. No discount this time, but in the face of the serene stability of the purple MANTX Bike, and the possibility of leaving the store without another fight, suddenly my fear of spending a chunk of money on something that was likely to be stolen again didn't seem so important.

As I completed my second spin through the mops and jackets and mini-instruments, the brown suit approached me again. He opened his mouth to comment on my choice of bike again, but I cut him off. It was time for a showdown. Here's how it went:

Me - Who are you anyway? Do you work here?
Him - Rolling his eyes, Oh, come on.
Me -Do you work here?
Him - No reply.
Me- You're not wearing a yellow uniform. Do you work here?
Him- (finally!) No, I don't work here.
Me - Then what does my purchase have to do with you?!?!?
Him - Silence.
Me - Nothing to do with you! Do not interfere with me again!

The salesman again came and told the brown suit, "She doesn't want your help." He huffed, annoyed, then finally shrugged and walked off.

Without the brown suit's "help", the process of exchanging my previous receipt for the n0-seat-raising bike, adjusting the new bike, and adding my accoutrement took about 15 minutes. Then it took only about another 12 minutes to navigate my way out of the store again to freedom.

So this was the tale of the hard fight I fought to obtain my second bike in China. The second bike is in for more adventures very soon, though, so stay tuned...