3 Jan 2018

3rd January 2017 Thieving scum steal irreplaceable Rotrax.


Wednesday 3rd 40F, 4C, heavy overcast with heavy rain and 30mph gusts.Wet and windy. No walk and no ride today.

Keep an eye out for a classic, brown Rotrax with 300,000 miles on it. Possibly still in the Nottingham area of Northern England in Gravely Blighted.

 Cyclist, 88, seeks vintage bike stolen at Christmas - BBC News

The thief may well be a violent drug addict or alcoholic, seeking to fund their filthy habit with serial bicycle theft. So do not approach anyone seen with the bicycle. Their need for a fix may well be more than your life is worth to them. Call the police! With so much publicity surrounding the case they can't possibly ignore this one. Can they?

I feel the owner's pain. Having my beloved Jack Taylor stolen when I was a teenager changed the entire course of my life. The police believed the thief took it to return from weekend leave at a Bristol prison. Where it was found with the wheels kicked in. I had only just previously allowed the insurance to lapse because, as a student, I couldn't afford it.

I spent weeks wandering the city of Bath desperately trying to find it. Later, while sitting on a park bench feeling the depression of its loss, I was persuaded to take up smoking by a neighbour. I smoked like an addict for the next 20 years.

I repeated the wandering decades later when a thief stole my rusty old car overnight in Bath. Then dumped it outside the local council tower block with the brake and petrol lines deliberately cut. I was 200 miles from home at the time and had a break-in at my rural workshop on the same weekend.

Professional "thieves" at a Bath, garage workshop then charged me £200 to replace the hydraulic brake lines. Doing it badly, in 20 minutes, but completely ignored the dripping fuel pipe. The car wasn't even worth £200 but I had to get home. To then find all my power tools and other valuable items had been stolen.

The insurance company took months to pay up which made me feel guilty for my own losses, despite the padlocked door. The feeling of vulnerability at the isolated, rural cottage we had rebuilt from a derelict shell with our own hands, never left us. Se we moved to Denmark when the opportunity arose. This was over twenty years ago and I still seethe with rage at the memory of these horrible nightmares.

Click on any image for an enlargement.


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