So this morning I’m heading to my favorite breakfast place to grab a quick egg McMuffin. (Breakfast IS the most important meal of the day you know). I’m thinking about my pre-op appointment and all of the questions that are going to be answered for me when all of the sudden…..this guy with a scraggly beard wearing a tattered camo jacket comes riding by……..on “MY” stolen mountain bike. I wasn’t positive initially, but from a distance, the bright yellow Manitou forks and the pewter frame sure looked like mine. As I got closer, I could see the model (Marin) boldly written on the frame. THIS was MY bike. It was beaten up. The grips were mostly ripped off of the handlebars and this outstanding citizen had placed a plastic bag over the seat. I can only guess he gave the bike a makeover to look less suspicious himself. So when he crossed the busy street, I crossed the street too. But he turned right on the sidewalk, and I had to keep going. So I circled around the block but I was too late, he just crossed that intersection too. He kind of looked back at me and I probably gave myself away, because when I turned around and went a block farther, he was gone. If only I could have taken a picture, if only I could have been more calm, if only I had my bionic hip – I would have chased after him and gotten my bike back.