Keys and porters, once again

So I lost my keys on Wednesday. I’d just been to Oddbins on Kings Parade with a friend to buy a bottle to take to the Blind Wine Tasting Society Annual Dinner (it was super, thanks for asking) – unlocked my bike, cycled down the Road to King’s, unlocked my lock, looped my lock through front wheel and frame and went into the King’s café.

Forty minutes later – no keys and a stationary bike. I checked, neither Porters nor café staff had seen them. So I wheeled my bike (on it’s back wheel only) round to college. It had gone five and the workshop was closed. The Porter’s bolt cutters had weary old blades that came about 2 mm short of meeting in the middle – making it impossible to completely slice the cable core of my lock.

So, I dumped it, mutilated lock and all in North Court, borrowed a gown and went to grad hall in turtle-neck and cords. (I had a guest, a lawyer from Queensland who did the LLM with me last year. We were joined in the bar afterwards by two medics. Three words: very messy night.)

The next day I finally managed to catch one of the maintenance guys in the workshop as opposed to out on call. The workshop is through an old stairwell, round a corner, down three flights of stairs and through a cage door. Getting my bike down there – less than super fun.

Seeing a maintenance dude sever those last 2 mil of cable with an angle grinder: fun. Orange sparks everywhere and a safety briefing amounting to: “You probably shouldn’t look straight at this.” Then a ride back up to the garage in the maintenance lift. (Thanks for telling me earlier.)

Oh, and my bike now has a combination lock.

On seeing the new lock one friend said: “Aren’t you afraid of it getting stolen now you have a thinner lock?”

“My bike is basically a mouldering piece of crap,” I replied. “I doubt anyone’s going to want it that much.”

“I thought it was your trusty steed.”

“Oh it is. I just have no illusions that my trusty steed is anything other than a mouldering piece of crap.”

At which point she offered to sell me her bike when she leaves in the Summer. Farewell, trusty steed.