Editorial
The Day My CCM was Stolen
When I was 9 or 10 years old. Or 8 or 11? In that zone for sure. Actually, the truth is I have no reference point. Maybe 12? Certainly not 7.
So, when I was between 7 and 12, a plan was hatched. I have no memory of who the instigator was but I was as keen as they were. They were Brent and Stuart. Brent was my friend who lived directly across the street from me. His proximity, in retrospect, is mostly why he was my friend. But he was always there for me... at least when I was bored. Stuart was a year older and he often acted like he owned us. We put up with this because he was one grade above us and ostensibly wiser. It sounds like I was a jerk of a friend when I was between 6 and 13, and that feels entirely true, based on my memories of being that age. I'm sorry. Really. Hopefully I'm better now.
Back to our story. Some combination of the three of us decided to go on a mission. We were going to leave our homes in Dunbar, on the west side of Vancouver, when (unlike now) it was firmly middle class, and eventually arrive at Wreck Beach, below the University of British Columbia. This was at least 10 times further than any journey we had ever attempted on our own, and our motivation was entirely pure and noble; we wanted to see some bare naked boobies.
Conveniently Wreck Beach was a nude beach, that, unknown to us, wasn't easily accessible. We didn't actually end up at Wreck Beach but, as it turned out, we were close enough to achieve our goal.
Our mums weren't going to drive us, as was usually the case; we were going to ride our bikes. I don't remember asking permission and I'm pretty sure we just went since being out of the house for the entire day wasn't an unusual occurrence.
We all had different bikes. Brent had a dual 20" bike with upright bars. It was red and it was kind of lame in my view. It may have had a fake gas tank mounted on the top tube. I don't remember what Stuart's bike was, aside from the recollection that it wasn't as cool as mine (this will be verified later in this story).
The Sturmey Archer rear hub was mostly what made my bike special. Most kids bikes of that era had a coaster brake , and mine did as well, but it had a secret; when you did a quick back pedal, or kickback, it changed between the two gears. This may not seem like much, but it made the bike vastly more useful - and cool - than my friends' bikes, and I loved it.
So we started off in Dunbar and we rode. And we rode. And we rode and rode and rode. It seemed like the longest journey of my life. Cell phones weren't even science fiction at that time and we had no dimes for the pay phone. If things went sideways, we were on our own. This was something that never crossed our minds because, as you are now aware, we were on a mission.
We started off on a long dirt road and eventually emerged onto unfamiliar university avenues and boulevards. I have no idea how we navigated from there to the northern edge of the peninsula, but we somehow, after what seemed like hours, figured it out and we found ourselves atop a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean; Burrard inlet to be precise.
Once we'd arrived, we realized there was a problem. We needed to leave our bikes at the top, and we were going to descend the sandy cliffs until we were at sea level, 200 feet below. We had no locks and there was nowhere to conceal our bikes. We'd arrived at the end of a dirt road and, without better options, we laid our bikes down under some alders and headed for the edge of the bluff.
This chapter of the story is anticlimactic. The most memorable part was making huge downhill jumps into the sand, feeling like super heroes, until we reached the beach.
Once we arrived, we almost certainly looked like comfortable, mature young lads who weren't entirely motivated by female nudity, as I'm sure you can imagine. In my recollection, from about 200 yards, we did see some boobs. It wasn't the transformational experience we'd anticipated, but for three (mostly, afaik) hetero boys in that age range, it wasn't nothing. It was only mostly nothing.
Eventually, we realized we'd seen all we were going to see, and we began plodding up the bluff, sliding 20 inches down for every 30 inches we climbed. After a very long slog we reached the top and began trudging in the hot sun toward the spot where we'd left our bikes.
I remember feeling slightly out of body when we got there. I had the sensation that there was something that appeared to be true, that shouldn't be true. Something that I was sure would be right in front of me, was not; my fucking bike was gone. Of course Brent's bike was there and Stuart's bike was there. Further examination of the tire tracks in the dusty dirt road revealed that the thief had test ridden each bike. He was apparently alone because in the end, he could only take one bike, and he'd chosen mine.
This has been on my mind lately, here in Whistler at Crankworx, as we've had to leave our bikes at several points; in front of a Canadian Tire store in Squamish, while having a beer at Dusty's, and after descending a short section of Freight Train to watch today's Canadian Open downhill. My buddies had nice bikes as well, but I couldn't help but imagine some bike thief trying their bikes and then mine, leaving Minion tracks in the dry earth, and finally riding away on my We Are One Arrival. It's not logical and certainly not a predictable outcome at the top of Creekside, in the world's most famous bike park, but I was powerless to the sensation.
That day, between 51 and 45 years ago, has left an indelible scar on my psyche. I've had one other bike stolen in that time, but the particulars are vague and soft, unlike that first time. Those who study PTSD point out that those who have endured a terrible event recall it using the same words, while recounting identical details, over many decades. And yet any beat cop will tell you that witnesses' stories change from hour to hour and they are often unrecognizable from the day before.
Obviously I'm not saying I have PTSD as a result of the theft of my tangeringe 1971 CCM Duomatic but the disappearance of that beautiful bike has never left me and I think about it every single time I have to leave my bike unattended, even if only for short periods. For better or worse. Likely worse.
Please keep your bike safe.
Comments
fartymarty
11 months ago
Now I want to hear the story of how you got home?
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Cam McRae
11 months ago
It's funny because you'd think that would have been another traumatic part of the story but I don't recall. I feel like it was a combination of doubling and walking/running. We had no way to communicate with our homes so I know I wasn't picked up. I just know I made it home somehow!
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Hawkinsdad
10 months, 4 weeks ago
Great read, Cam. I remember well when my beloved Fastback 100, the most terrifyingly bad handling bike of all time, was stolen out of our carport in Penticton. I was totally dismayed and in abject disbelief. That bike took me throughout the South Okanagan on dirt roads, city streets, and the highway. With a basket on the front, it was even more unstable hauling newspapers but, damn it, I loved that bike. Speaking of trauma. As a naïve student at UBC, I used to hike down to Wreck Beach to smoke a gagger, not to peruse naked people. One day, I was horrified by the old fat guy wearing the sailor's hat and nothing else. Egads, that memory is hard to extinguish. I NEVER leave my bike unattended without my Kryptonite Faghettaboudit.
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Kos
11 months ago
Fun stuff, Cam. Thanks for the Monday read. Two-speed kickshifter FTW, and bike thieves blow!
Sounds like a long ride. Could you share your hydration and nutrition plan? Bottles or pack? Gels or solid food? :-)
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Pete Roggeman
10 months, 4 weeks ago
-Basket
-One Mr Freeze (blue, large) every hour
-One Slurpee, (medium, coke/cream soda slurry) in hour three
-Peanut M&Ms (large bag, shared)
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ChristopherO
11 months ago
Probably took turns doubling home.
I had a similar blue single speed CCM, girls frame hand me down, but I drooled over the Duomatic a neighbour had.
After too many sweet jumps, the banana seat broke and I replaced it with a plain seat. Fifty years later and I just remembered the term “Sissy bar!”
After too many skids, the replacement tire from Crappy Tire was a “Tractor Grip.” It had cool white lettering.
I “ghost rode” it into the side of the school and bent the forks backwards. Luckily it still rode with the bars spun 180.
Thanks for the story, Cam!
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Perry Schebel
11 months ago
my first bike was also a 20" sissy bar / banana seat / coaster brake ccm - in blue. (what was that type of bike called, anyways? was the default kid's bike bitd). i also pulled the banana & replaced with a "10-speed" saddle to more closely emulate a bmx (which were just starting to gain popularity). there was a wooded area at the end of our block, with network of trails that we used to rip around on our "bush bikes" - 45 or so years ago (holy shit).
also reminds me of my 1st stolen bike experience - my absolute pride & joy 1980 kuwahara bmx yoinked from in front of a store (small town, locking bikes wasn't a thing back then). the near surreal feeling of initial discovery - a mashup of shock & confusion - that i still recall. the bike did show up a few days later at the local pawn shop a few blocks away (not a very smart thief), so not a tale of tragedy, but crushed my little kid heart for a short while.
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Lacy Kemp
10 months, 4 weeks ago
I'm sure you know this, but just in case... I often times will ride with this little guy in my hip pack. It weighs nothing. If I can even just lock my bike to a pal's bike I feel infinitely better. But bike thieves are dicks and will steal what they want to steal. I suppose if this adds an extra 30 seconds to their process and maybe means I catch them in the act and can act out all of my vigilante fantasies it's worth it.https://www.ottodesignworks.com/shop/p/hexband
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Velocipedestrian
10 months, 4 weeks ago
So does the sight of bare naked boobies trigger any PTSD response now?
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Cam McRae
10 months, 4 weeks ago
Ha!
Oddly that part of the trauma doesn't trigger any negative reactions!
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Andy Eunson
11 months ago
I remember those duomatic mustangs. The first one I saw was ridden by two boys from up the street. Brothers. Sort of metallic root beer coloured with chrome fenders. They lived two blocks away which was a bit farther than we had ridden much and there wasn’t a reason to go in that direction. That would have been mid 60s when I was around ten. One of those brothers is still my best friend. I never got a Mustang but the lust was intense. I did get high handlebars and a banana seat. Later a sprung sissy bar which because there was no pivot on the seat, caused the steel seat base to fail from fatigue. I think around that time I removed the fenders, got new tires with a red stripe, put the original seat back on and a straight bar which was a hunk of pipe I had found. It was, I thought, a great bike for what we called "the monkey trails".
The stupid things we did. I remember going to St Vital Park about a kilometre from home and having an absolute gas riding in the fog of malathion which the city pumped out from a truck to kill mosquitoes. Couldn’t see shit. Hit trees and rode into bushes and each other. Jumping the one jump at the monkey trails until one of us crashed then it was slurpy time. Or convincing my friends little brother to ride way too fast, land on the top tube and ride into the Seine River and come out crying with no bike. That river is quite shallow so the bike wasn’t submerged.
Or Greg Harvey with his thre speed stick shift Mustang with one of those silly slick rear tires with the flat slick tread area. He was only able to skid in one direction so the tire was rounded on one side until he turned it around.
I was around 14 I think when I got my first 10 speed as we all did. Then road riding and touring took over. Even after my buddy got a car, we still rode our bikes a ton.
Never had a bike stolen but many adventures. Thanks for bringing back some of those memories. One could go on forever with such stories.
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Mike Riemer
11 months ago
Heads up: typo in the Sturmey paragraph...it reads 'years', and should be 'gears'. Fun story BTW. And yes, inquiring minds want to know how you got home?
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Jotegir
11 months ago
Don't you know the original sturmey archer hub was a short range time travel device?
(There also likely a period missing in the paragraph before).
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Cam McRae
10 months, 4 weeks ago
Thanks both of you. It was a late night edit!
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Shoreboy
11 months ago
I can totally relate. My brother and I had some super sweet 'motocross' inspired bikes back in the day. The ones with the faux plastic gas tank, elongated seat, and dual coil rear shocks. We went on our usual run around the neighborhood, boosting curbs and seeing who could do the longest coaster brake skid. We ended up at the local 7-11 where we left them outside to go get ourselves a much deserved Slurpee after a good urban assault session. We were gutted to see them gone when we came back outside. The walk of shame back to my house to explain to my parents what had happened will always make me remember why I never leave my current bikes unlocked or out of sight.
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Perry Schebel
11 months ago
those mx bikes were the best/worst. a friend had one, and i thought it was SO cool. i still remember riding that thing - sooo heavy, the plastic gas tank rattling around, and the (really softly sprung, functionally undamped) suspension bottoming hard over pretty much any sort of jump. of course the mild steel frame broke (was rewelded at a garage, broke again...).
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XXX_er
11 months ago
Kid down the street had the same gold mustang with the duo-matic hub so i rode it quite a bit, it actualy worked really well, i don't know how it worked but it did and it was trouble free
I had a bike stolen in grade 5 which kinda sucked, so I started buying bikes from the VPD auctions which would have been the unclaimed stolen bikes, they were 5$ CCM's that needed work so thats where i first learned to work on bikes and then i would sell them for a profit
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Cam McRae
10 months, 4 weeks ago
Maybe he ended up with my bike somehow? lol
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XXX_er
10 months, 4 weeks ago
actualy that bike was B-day present from his absent father the high flying car-salesman and how it arrived was in the trunk of a car altered to look like the Batmobile driven by guy dressed up as batman and the joker was with riding shotgun with him I shit you not.
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FlipSide
10 months, 4 weeks ago
I never had a complete bike stolen, but I had a RockShox Quadra5 stolen from my (locked) Specialized RockHopper Comp A1 FS. That was a long time ago (1997 maybe?). Strangely, they stole the stem and fork and left the rest. It would have been so much easier to simple cut all the cables and leave with the bar, shifters, levers as well...
That sucked, but it it was a nice occasion to "upgrade" to a Manitou Mach5 fork and a Girvin stem. The Manitou sucked, but the Girvin stem was a beauty.
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humdishum
10 months, 4 weeks ago
Hey that exact bike (1995, blue?) was my first « real » mtb! Some many good memories and stories with that bike, but I would have never thought that a Quadra 5 was worth stealing by itself!
I almost bought a green Manitou FS Palmer edition to install on my next bike (‘96 Stumpy A1 FS) that was eventually stolen. Those Pricepoint ads/deals in MBA were hard to ignore back then!
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FlipSide
10 months, 4 weeks ago
Ha! Yes, exactly! Blue anodized frame. That bike was very nice looking!
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Mark
10 months, 4 weeks ago
I had something like that bike Cam. It wasn't stolen but it did serve up some disappointment. Back in the late 70's, as BMX was near it's pinnacle, I wanted this BMX "conversion kit" like nothing else on planet earth. I hadn't quite "discovered" girls yet. Inside this magic box was everything you needed to turn your tired old cruiser style bike into a rad BMX bike. It had bmx/moto style bars with a cross brace to swap out your sissy bars, a BMX seat to replace the banana seat, top tube, stem and handle bar pads, new grips, and pedals too I think. All in vivid purple and yellow colours. I thought I was gonna be just as rad as all the older kids on their flashy expensive bmx bikes. What was in the box did not live up to the hype that was in my head. Probably 5yrs later I eventually got a real bmx bike, which got stolen from school maybe a year later.
As a kid, that sickness that forms in the pit of your stomach is something you never forget.
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humdishum
11 months ago
I had my bike stolen when I was 14, in my parents' garage, in a small town. I clearly remember walking out with my clipless shoes, helmet and gloves on, not seeing my '96 Stumpy in there. After calling my friends and looking everywhere around the house, we came to the conclusion that it had been stolen. The police never found it, but I saw the main suspect riding another bike with (I'm 99% sure) my Quadra 21R on it in the village a few weeks after.
Getting a brand new bike was a nice consolation, but like you Cam, 25 years later, I still think about it every time I leave my bike unattended (and because of that, it basically never happens).
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jhtopilko
11 months ago
Had a Trek 720 hybrid stolen in 1990. I'll never forget all the circumstances, watching the guy riding away with my bike, flagging someone to chase him and ultimately not being able to drive through a soccer field.
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4Runner1
11 months ago
This comment has been removed.
Dave Smith
10 months, 4 weeks ago
If only there was SNIK!
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Cam McRae
10 months, 4 weeks ago
If only I could have paid monthly subscriptions!
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