On a sweltering August morning at Swap-o-Rama there are cries from the sock vendors of “Siete por diez! Seven packs for ten!” Most of the goods at this enormous Back of the Yards flea market are priced low, attracting bargain hunters searching for deals on cowboy boots, children’s toys, phone cases, and windshield wipers. But there are also plenty of higher-end items for sale: power tools, kitchen mixers, a pair of child car seats (nestled between a chain saw and a vintage metal milk can), and bicycles, maybe a couple hundred total. In cycling circles, the Ashland Swap-o-Rama has an unsavory reputation as a place where peddlers hawk stolen bikes.
Police don’t often catch bike thieves due to the relatively low priority of the crime and the speed with which the thieves sell off the purloined two-wheelers. In response, a handful of bike theft vigilantes have sprung up, monitoring online reports of stolen cycles and marketplaces (both virtual and physical), posing as buyers, and confronting thieves face-to-face—all to reunite owners with their beloved bikes. While their efforts are valiant, they don’t make an observable dent in the overall epidemic. But that’s not stopping them from trying.
Though happy to see justice served, Conway isn’t convinced that catching thieves like Robertson does much to curb bike theft. “But when Kenny was at 26th and California, we noticed a lot less angle-grinder thefts,” he says. The only surefire answer Conway has to reducing thefts: lock up properly. Power-tool-fueled thefts like the ones that were Robertson’s trademark are the exception to the rule. Thirty-five percent of the stolen bikes reported to the CSBR were locked with easy-to-cut cable locks; 25 percent weren’t locked at all. Fewer than 10 percent of the bikes were secured with a U-lock to a bike rack—the preferred method.
Glenn helped Web designer Chris LaFrombois recover his stolen Bianchi earlier this year by alerting him that the CSBR-registered bike had showed up as the cover photo of a teen who frequented Chicago Bike Selling. This was LaFrombois’s second attempt to get it back: shortly after the theft last December the bike showed up for sale on the Facebook page. He arranged a meeting with the seller and alerted the cops, but says he was told that no officers were available. As it turned out, though, his 15-year-old neighbor was part of the group of teens who showed up to meet LaFrombois; the neighbor recognized him, he says, and once the teens realized they were dealing with the bike’s rightful owner they all took off.
Among those I interviewed for this story, I heard a similar refrain: the only way to get your bike back is if you find it yourself, either online or in person. Then, if you’re determined—and you have the documentation to prove that the bike’s yours—the police might help you recover it.
Riding to work one day last summer, Fiks saw a De Bernardi track bike priced for $100 at a pawnshop in Noble Square. He bought the bike, located it on the CSBR, and contacted the owner. “I was a little nervous that he wouldn’t want to pay me back for it,” Fiks says. As someone in possession of stolen property, Fiks would have had to turn over the bike whether or not he got reimbursed. Fortunately, the owner was happy to pay Fiks for the bike.
