There’s hardly a worst feeling a cyclist can suffer than coming out of a building and discovering his bike has been stolen. The heart plunges and the gut feels wrenched. One desperately looks around hoping he is mistaken about where he locked his bike. But no it’s gone and life will never be the same.
I endured a mild case of the stolen bike syndrome when I arrived at the address for the El Centro Carnegie only to discover an empty lot with a fence around it. I had biked over a hundred miles anticipating the thrill of meeting another Carnegie only to be slapped in the face. It had been razed some five years ago after suffering irreparable damage from an earthquake.