(In case you haven't been following my every word over the past few months, let's rewind a bit here. Why would I be trying to pick a bike lock at the marina in Jersey City? The obvious answer is that's just what people do in Jersey City! In my case, the story was more complex, more sophisticated, more - oh, heck, I'll just say it. I forgot the combination. Two months ago. Frankly I was stunned that no one had stolen the bike. But back to the story…)
To make matters worse, I had an audience. I had gotten used to my nearly deserted marina during early spring. Now loads of people were treating Memorial Day like some kind of holiday and filling the largest park in the area. Ok, there's the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island and the Liberty Science Center and Manhattan and New York Harbor but other than that, why the crowds on this hot, sunny day?
A large sailing crew had chosen the patch of grass immediately adjacent to my imprisoned bicycle for a post cruise briefing. Yeah, I had chosen a nice quiet spot to pick a lock. Just me and a whole fleet of boats complete with crews and tourists.
After 20 minutes, the debriefed boat crew began to take increasing notice of me so I had to develop another plan. Figuring that it might take more than a couple of minutes to finish running through the 10,000 possible combinations for the lock, I leaned back on the bike rack in order to appear inconspicuous and took a closer look at the visiting fleet. If the decals stuck on the bow of each boat were any indication, these boats were all engaged in a round the world race of some sort.
A devious plan formed in my mind.
Round the world racers are bound to have a combination of tools AND skills that could make quick work of my bike lock. All I had to do was convince a complete stranger to cut through the lock in full view of the holiday crowd. Only one minor problem stood between me and bike freedom: I am incredibly uncomfortable around strangers. In fact, I'd rather ride a unicycle across the Mackinac Bridge on a windy winter night than approach a stranger and introduce myself. (See stories on bridges to understand just how terrifying they would be.)
I recalled a suggestion made last week by some sailing friends of questionable repute and considered calling the fire department for help (with the lock, not the social awkwardness) but thought the lights and sirens might draw some unwanted attention.
After 20 minutes of staring at the boats, I finally worked up my nerve and approached a likely candidate.
"Hey, which boat are you with?"
"De Lage Landen."
"De Lager what?"
"The Dutch boat," he said with what appeared to be an Aussie accent. That gave me an idea.
"No kidding! I used to be with ABN AMRO," I said reaching back ten years in my career to my time with the large Dutch bank. "I was involved with their Volvo round the world race!"
Ok, "involved" can mean a lot of different things. It could mean I was the skipper or the navigator or it could mean that I got a t shirt and followed them on their website.
"How would you like to earn a case of beer for your mates?"
"Sure!" YES!
"I mean, what would I have to do?" Uh-oh.
I took that first 'sure' as a binding contract and commitment. The rest would simply be minor details.
"Well, you see, I came into the marina a couple of months ago on a cold, rainy night. I locked my bike and something happened with the lock and I can't open it. I figured you have all kinds of tools and could make quick work of it."
Somehow, in my newfound social effusiveness, I neglected to mention that I came into the marina in my truck and the boat came on another truck. Again, these are just unimportant details. If he wanted to think I was a brother windfarer, so be it.
"By 'make quick work of it' you mean…?"
"Cut the cable. C'mon, I'll show you. Let's go."
This socializing is easier than I expected so long as you just bull ahead. The guy actually followed me over to my bike and inspected the cable.
"This is your bike, right?"
"Well, it will be in ten minutes if this all works out, " I said, figuring I'd buddy up to him with a little Yankee humor. I got a dubious stare in return. Funny how body language differs from one country to another. In the U.S., that look would be interpreted as skepticism whereas I am sure it was some sort of male bonding in this case.
"Well, let's get to it then," I encouraged him and headed for the boats.
We stopped at the first boat and my partner in crime started to ask the skipper for some tools and then stopped and turned to me.
"What do we need?"
"Cable cutters or maybe a strong bolt cutter. Grinder would do the trick too."
The American skipper looked down at us and asked, "What do you need those for?"
"I think we're going to steal a bike," the sailor replied, obviously finally getting the drift of the mission.
"Well, in that case, you need your hydraulic cable cutters," he said before shaking his head and walking away.
Something didn't seem quite right to me (and, I am sure, to my new buddy as well but for different reasons). Why did we stop to ask for help at the American boat instead of proceeding directly to the Dutch boat? I smelled a possible Interpol sting operation.
"So, how long have you been sailing in this race?" I asked.
"I've been on the boat all the way. We have one more leg to complete the circumnavigation."
Aha! That triggered a thought. Why would he emphasize that he had been aboard "all the way?" Racers would, of course, have been aboard the whole trip.
"So, are some of the crew amateurs?"
"Yes. We're all amateurs except for the skippers."
That explained why he had stopped to ask for tools instead of just grabbing what he needed. it also threw into question my assumption that any crewman on a racing boat would be an expert with tools. This might get a little more interesting that I intended.
Sure enough, he then asked, "What's a hydraulic cable cutter anyway? What do you use it for?"
"Other than stealing bikes? You could use it to cut away rigging in an emergency," I explained to the guy who had already sailed most of the way around the world. "What kind of boats are these?"
"They're custom boats just for this race. There were ten built but one sank so they had to build that one over there as a replacement."
"I see. Probably sank because they couldn't find their hydraulic cable cutter."
He looked over at me as we walked down the dock and said, "Really? That could happen?"
"Sure," I said with absolutely uninformed authority. "They probably lost their rig over the side and then a spar holed the boat before they could cut the rigging away. You really need to have those cutters at hand."
"Wow, I guess so," he said, picking up his pace.
We arrived at the Dutch boat and I watched as he gracefully (being many, many years younger and more athletic than I) stepped on a dock line and bounced himself right up onto the high sided hull.
"C'mon up and look around while I find the cutters," he graciously offered.
I looked skeptically at that dock line and pictured myself taking an early season swim in the Hudson. I couldn't simply stand on the dock after putting myself forward as some kind of seaman. I grabbed a stanchion, bounced on the line and was absolutely amazed to find myself standing on the deck of a fine ocean racing sailboat. How I would get off would be left to the future.
My buddy then went below and started going through the lockers while I inspected the rigging. The rest of the crew didn't seem fazed by the sudden appearance of a stranger on board. My friend stuck his head out of the companionway and said, "Where's the hydraulic cable cutters??? These things need to be right at hand in case we lose the rig!"
Some of the crew went below to aid in the search although it quickly became apparent that no one really knew what they were looking for. At last, someone came on deck with the strangest looking tool I have ever seen, all wrapped up in oil cloth and dripping with grease that had not kept away the rust.
"Is this it?" one of the crew asked me, as if I, of all people, would know!
"That's it!" I declared.
"How does it work?"
Oh boy.
"C'mon guys, this is serious safety equipment. You need to be able to figure this out."
The crew of seasoned amateurs circled around this strange, rusty hunk of metal and proceeded to pinch fingers, grease the deck and nearly sever digits before it finally popped open.
"Bingo!" I shouted. "You've figured it out without any help. That's the spirit." I knew I was getting in deep but once I get on a roll there's just no stopping me.
"So, what route did you guys take to get here? Easy way around or upwind?" I really don't know when to shut up.
"Easy way," one of my new students explained and then he walked me through their rather circuitous route before explaining they were headed back to the U.K. in a few days.
"Going up by way of Halifax?" I asked.
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"Well, I was helping a friend do some route planning the other day. I suggested that route as the best way across this time of year." Ok, that actually happened. Sort of. When our friend Bad Bob explained his bizarre, I mean eclectic, plan for crossing the Atlantic under sail in a motorboat (I am not kidding), I suggested a refueling stop in Halifax. Just call me the instant expert.
"How's the weather up there this time of year?" one of the real sailors asked. Uh oh.
I looked off in the distance a bit, wondering why I had not just called the fire department after all, and then nodded sagely and explained, "Foggy mostly. Warm waters from the Gulf Stream coming into contact with the southerly setting Arctic currents really generate some soupy fog this time of year. Watch yourself out there. Hey, look at the time! Better get back to that bike."
To my everlasting amazement, I then stepped down onto a bouncing dock line and gracefully disembarked. I could never, in a million years, do that twice! Good karma today. Crime pays, I guess.
We walked back to the bike in front of dozens of law abiding citizens as if there was nothing at all unusual in executing this theft.
I remembered some suggestions from other sailor friends of flexible moral character and pointed to the cable right near the lock. "You might want to cut it there," I suggested. "That's how I usually do it when stealing bikes. Helps to stop the cable from fraying when you cut."
I got that dubious look again but he went to work with the tool, getting his hands terribly greasy in the process. I hoped he wouldn't get all that grime on my bike!
The cable parted with amazing ease. I wouldn't go putting your fingers near hydraulic cable cutters!
Elated at this new to me bike, I pulled some cash out for the promised beer.
"No, no. That's not necessary," the new criminal assured me.
"Take it for the crew," I insisted and he thanked me profusely.
After walking a few steps away, he turned back and said, "This is too much. Here, take some back. $20 will certainly buy enough beer."
He hesitated for minute and then asked, "This really is your bike, isn't it?"
"It is now! And it just got cheaper!" I laughed and wondered how long he would think about whether he had been conned.
"Fair winds and following seas, my friend. Be careful in the fog!"
"Thanks and thanks for all the advice. We'll keep this cutter handy now. I'm glad to hear that our route makes sense too. I had wondered about that."
Amateurs. What're you going to do with them?
I then loaded the bike onto my truck and drove down to my boat. As I parked, I thought a perfectly ironic end to the day would be coming back to the truck to find the now unlocked bike stolen by true ne'er do wells!
I stepped aboard my boat for the first time in a month. Unbelievably, the rain from the past week had actually washed the boat clean! It was looking much better than the last time I was aboard.
All I had to do was bend on the sails. A simple task. Few tools. Deep breath….
If I were immodest, I might tell you that I singlehandedly bent on the sails without, for the most part, any incidents at all. However, my modesty will not allow me to tell you that, even though it happened. I even rigged an interesting little setup to hold the mainsail level with the boom so I could thread the bolt rope.
I will, however, tell you that the local sailors are either rude or ignorant. Not one of them came when I flew the official, universal "Rigging Sailor In Distress" signal consisting of an upside down jib.
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