My bicycle was stolen on Sept. 26 from a shed located on private property behind the rental unit where I live. I worked hard to earn the money (about $900) to purchase that nice Bianchi, and another couple hundred bucks to outfit the bike with roomy, utilitarian panniers. I travel on two wheels on a daily basis, year-round. I do nearly all my errands that way, and even cycle to some of my freelance jobs. So of course, I’ll miss that bike. 

The theft taught me some important lessons, however. For one thing, living in a sweet neighborhood in downtown Greenfield, I allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security. I often left the bike unlocked in the shed, but I won’t do that again. I own another, lower-quality bike, but it will get me where I need to go, and I’ll secure this one with a hefty lock I purchased at Bicycle World, a local business run by a fun-loving, courteous crew.

There were more significant lessons. After the initial dismay upon realizing that someone went out of their way to walk down a private drive to a private outbuilding to take property that didn’t belong to them, I counted my lucky stars. Sure, I’ve lost an object of which I’d grown rather fond. But it was an object. I easily skipped the pity party when I recalled the far greater shock I felt upon viewing the right hand belonging to one of my younger brothers, years ago, after he lost several fingers in an accident involving explosives. There’s nothing like watching a loved one yearn for their missing body parts to remind us of what’s really important. 

I hope the person who stole my property wears my raincoat in good health. I hope they can make use of the gloves, hat, cloth shopping bags, bike chain oil, small notebook, and pen stored in the panniers. The notebook and pen are especially useful when encountering interesting people on the road. I don’t use a cellphone, so I put people’s names, numbers, and tidbits about their lives into little notebooks, and those details often end up in my newspaper columns about the fascinating and wonderful region in which we live. The hankie in the left pannier is clean, so if they have a sniffle, they should feel free to use it. They stole my bike, but not my germs. They’ll probably want to remove the gossamer blue and green ribbons from my front spokes; anyone who knows me will know those are mine. 

I enjoyed many happy hours on that bike, and I’ll have many more on other bikes. Instead of pining for something that’s gone for good, I celebrate that I possess all 10 fingers and can still get myself out of bed in the morning. Every week, when I hop in my car to drive to southern Vermont to visit my mom at the Vernon Green Nursing Home, my heart grieves for her: she can no longer speak, walk, or remember the facts and details of her brilliant life. 

Yeah, I’ll miss that bike, but not as much as I miss my mom, nor as much as my brother misses his fingers, four decades after his accident. Sometimes losing something reminds us of how much we still have left.

Eveline MacDougall lives in Greenfield.