Turned out to be my frickin’ treasure.

Earlier, last week, a couple of bicycles showed up in the trash near the house. They both looked like complete, unbroken bikes on casual inspection, but they were chained together and thrown in a heap. I suspected they were stolen and the thieves were unable to defeat the lock so they ditched them in a garbage pile in another part of town.

Like many things here, they do things different. They put their phone numbers and names on everything. It’s common to see the owner’s phone numbers on almost every car windshield – something American women would be loath to do. Anyway, there was a phone number on one of the bikes, so I called. The woman who answered hung up on me, so I suspect my Korean pronunciation was horrible. I had my school director call and he got almost the same treatment. He talked to her just long enough to find out she didn’t care about the bikes.

I picked them both up and carried them to my apartment. No small feat considering I live on the fourth floor. There, I had a chance to check out the lock. It was just jacked up – frozen solid and the dials on the combination wouldn’t budge. Maybe she decided to just pitch them both since she couldn’t get the lock undone.  Maybe the weren’t stolen but just unwanted. Either way, I went out and bought a $5 hack saw and became the proud owner of two perfectly good bicycles: a mountain bike and a racing bike. Both are Korean manufacture and nothing anyone at home would recognize. But for $5, I think they’re awesome.

I scratched off the number and immediately went for a ride. While cruising the neighborhood, I saw one of my students. He asked me if I got a new bike. Of course, I told him. Then he asked me why my new bike had some Korean dude’s name on it. I had seen it before, but assumed it was the manufacturer’s sticker of some sort. Nope, a name. Busted. I sheepishly explained in more detail how I got the new bike, but I suspect he thinks I’m a criminal.