My bicycle. My sweet red machine. My beloved pedal donkey. My spokey crusader. I had so many names for her. Hen-rietta, the Fiery-Eyed. She was real to me. Sleek red with a sturdy frame, a goose starling squeeze-horn, wheels that could make a man turn blindly on his side and scream for caramel.

And she was taken away from me three months ago. Stolen from me right outside the un-watching eyes of the Hesburgh Library.

Mine is not a rare plight, not on this campus or most others throughout America. A 1994 study by Integrated Cycle Systems found that a student at a four-year college has a 53 percent chance of having his or her bicycle stolen. It is a startlingly high number, but it seems to pan out even here at Notre Dame if one asks around. Nearly everyone I asked — those who said they had a bike — had had theirs stolen at least once while it was on-campus. Some of them had been recovered and others had not, but all were made aware of a certain level of violation that comes with having your bicycle stolen.

Dillon sophomores Alex Menze and Dan Chew both had their locks cut and their bicycles stolen over Easter Break. "This is the second time this semester my bike has been stolen," said Menze. "I got it back the first time. Security found it abandoned by Moose Krause Circle. Whoever took it pumped up the tires."

Chew added: "If I find the guy who stole my bike, I hope he's reading this. I'm going to bust my bike lock over his head." So if you're reading this, and you know the bike you stole is Dan Chew's, put it back beside Dillon unless you want to get your head busted upon.

It might seem strange to read, but a person really develops an attachment to his or her bike. For a student living off-campus especially, but for anyone really, owning a bike is a relationship as strong as any other. You know which gears are the best for different situations, different moods. You know how your bike takes bumps, which ones will punish your groin and which ones you can sort of cruise over without screaming.

You know your brakes and when to use them. You get used to how a certain bike feels beneath you, and when that is taken away by some stranger who has no right to a relationship with your bicycle, well, that hurts a lot. It hurts to know that someone else is riding around on her, pushing her pedals and honking her horn.

What sort of person could take this away from another human being? What could possibly be going through a bicycle thief's mind when he or she takes it upon him or herself to deprive you of that relationship?

The motivation behind this immorality is so dense to my simple mind that I could not begin to comprehend its actions. When I began to think about it, I began to realize that I had to know what made a bicycle thief tick. The only way I knew to find that out was to interview a bicycle thief. And the only way I could think of to interview a bicycle thief was to set up a stakeout and to catch the wee-bugger in the act. So that's what I did.

April 29, 9 p.m.

I have parked my recovered bike in front of South Dining Hall. It is fairly well lit, tremendously unlocked and it has a flat tire. My observation post is located on this bench across the quad, directly in front of Howard Hall. My plan is this, wait until the thief is upon the bike and trying to ride it away. When this is done, I will spring from my bench, sprint across the quad and yell, "Freeze! Observer!" And if it doesn't look like the person is capable of catching and beating me up, I will then take their picture with my 35mm camera and threaten to publish it or take it to security if I am not granted an interview. They will certainly not escape me with the tire in its current condition and me being the fleet-footed fellow that I am.

9:30 p.m.

The bike is still there, and everyone who passes is ignoring it. It grows cold on this bench, and my thoughts turn to Paris and happier days. I think back to what a friend asked me earlier in the day, "What if it's not like a normal bike thief? What if it's a Townie? What if they try to cut you?"

But I myself am a resident of South Bend and I know how to handle these people. The thing to do in South Bend when confronted with a knife is to run like hell. They teach you that from the first day at Perley Elementary to the last day at Adams High School.

We had knife safety assemblies all the time in school, with speakers like Officer Jack and his friend Jimmy the "Run like Hell" Bear. Not to mention the "Stay in Shape or You'll Be Cut Down In Your Prime" players. Oh yes, I know how to handle these people.

10:30 p.m.

The quad is very quiet now, and if not for the sound of someone chewing on LaFortune gummy worms, all would be silent. That someone is me. My bicycle rests — still — a dead thing in the darkness across the quad. It has not been so much as accosted as of yet, and so I turn to my headphones for solace and entertainment.

U93's Open House Party is playing right now, the only time the station is remotely tolerable. As long as I have this forum, might I just add that U93's Morning Show is poisoning South Bend's mind — and probably its water as well — and should be dismantled and burned as a warning to others, a warning that says if you're thinking of being hideously corny in a public forum, especially in the morning, and then laughing at yourself like a gawking yokel hopped up on muscle relaxants, please think twice because it upsets Andrew McDonnell, Scene Writer.

10:34 p.m.

Police sirens sound in the distance — doubtless some other bicycle has been stolen and the NDSPD are in hot pursuit. Actually, probably not. It will probably be something along these lines:

Midnight

This is dumb. I am now moving my bicycle to the place from where it was previously stolen, the bicycle racks on the Juniper side of the Hesburgh Library. It will be darker, and more lonely, but I have my roommate's bike parked there as well, and I can use that one as a pursuit vehicle if I need to.

12:07 a.m.

The egg has been layed and Mother Sky Hawk is within visible striking position should the cuckoo invade upon the integrity of the nest. I'm sitting in the corner of the bus stop shelter where I cannot be seen. I am darned near invisible in this bus shelter. Yes I am. I am also very cold.

12:30 a.m.

A Transpo is pulling up to the stop so I'm leaving. I hate that moment when the bus pulls up and opens its doors and the driver is there waiting for you to come aboard, but you aren't getting on the bus. You're just waiting to see if your bike gets stolen, and the bus driver is still just waiting for you. And you're diverting your gaze as if you haven't even noticed that an enormous bus has just pulled up; and maybe the bus driver says something like, "Hey, you coming or what?" And you have no reply, you just pretend you didn't hear him, and you still haven't noticed the bus. So then maybe the bus driver throws a handful of change at you to get your attention and a quarter hits you in the forehead, and you look up startled, and say, "Huh? Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there." And he just shakes his head and closes the door and drives away, and you pick up a penny and throw it at the bus' taillight as it pulls away.

But the bus driver notices and stops the bus and the door opens and he climbs out and he's rolling up his sleeves, and you're sitting on the bench thinking, "Oh crap, oh crap what am I supposed to do here, what did they teach us at Perley Elementary? Oh crap, oh crap" — and then it comes to you and you start to run away, but the bus driver is stunningly nimble and has you by the ankles and before you can scream his fists are hitting in your mouth, and then all is blackness. I hate those moments.

12:35 a.m.

I return to my post. Awkward situation averted.

1:50 a.m.

No one is stealing my frickin' bicycle and I feel very shady sitting in the darkness by myself for long periods of time, and so now I must move. I will walk my decoy bicycle with the flat tire and my roommate's pursuit bicycle back over to South Dining Hall to meet the post-parietals storming of Reckers.

1:54 a.m.

I am passed on the sidewalk by an ND Security SUV and mentally prepare myself for an explanation to the officers as to why I am walking around campus at 1:54 in the morning with a bicycle in each hand. This moment never arrives though, as the cops continue past. Fair enough.

1:57 a.m.

Bike replaced in front of South Dining Hall. Post reassumed in front of Howard Hall.

2:30 a.m.

Crowds have passed and no one has even glanced at my bike. What's wrong with my bike? It was good enough to steal once. Why not steal it twice? It's cold as crap out here and I'm angry because Open House Party played the Thong Song and now I can't get it out of me head. "Thong, thong-thong-thong-thong. She dumps like a truck, truck, truck" … Want to die now.

3 a.m.

Going in to thaw in my friends' quad in Dillon, where they should be getting back from Club 23.

11 a.m.

Woke up on couch in Dillon. Apparently fell asleep during "The Haunting" — worst movie ever — and will now check on bike outside.

11:03 a.m.

Bicycle still very much there.

April 30, 10 p.m.

Stakeout re-established in front of O'Shaughnessy Hall. Very dark bike racks. I hope this will add to the allure of my unlocked bicycle. The day has been rough since this morning. Went to Bookstore Basketball, did homework, drank a rootbeer float, went to a movie and everywhere I went, I had the same bizarre conversation.

Someone else: "Did your bike get stolen yet?"

Me: "No." (sounding disappointed)

Someone else: "I'm sorry."

Me: "That's alright. I'm going to try again tonight."

Someone else: "I'll steal it for you."

Me: "No thanks."

(The sound of a piano wire snapping fills the air and is allowed to ring. The curtains close.)

11:30 p.m.

Transfer bicycle to main entrance of DeBartolo Hall. Someone looking to steal bikes will look here.

1 a.m.

I grow weary of this apathy amongst our campus thieves. What's wrong with my bicycle? The tire's flat, yes, but you wouldn't notice that until you were riding! Steal my bicycle!

1:15 a. m.

I have made a sign that says, "STEAL ME!" and taped it to my bicycle seat. I have rolled my bike into the blazing light of the Sesquicentennial Commons behind Fitzpatrick Hall where it cannot be missed, and I am hiding and waiting.

1:30 a.m.

No one is taking my bike so I made another sign that says "NOBODY'S WATCHING" and taped it next to the "STEAL ME" sign.

1:35 a.m.

Jogger paused and read the sign on my bike. Continued on.

1:45 a.m.

At last, a shadowy figure appears and examines the bicycle. Short brown hair. About my height. I run out from my bench and yell, "Freeze! Observer!"

The would-be thief stops and looks at me.

Me: Why are you taking this bike?

Them: It's cold and I've been studying and I just want to get home.

Me: Didn't you stop to think about how it would make this bike's owner feel if they found their bike stolen?

Them: No.

Me: Didn't you?

Them: No.

Me: I didn't think so.

Them: I'm sorry.

Me: Aren't you my buddy Molly McShane?

Them: No.

Me: Didn't I, in fact, ask you to take this bicycle because I was getting bored and no one was stealing my bike?

Them: No.

Me: Yeah you are.

Them: Yeah.

2 a.m.

I am so tired it hurts. I parked the bike by O'Shaughnessy with the signs still on it and I'm riding the pursuit bicycle home to sleep.

So I guess what I learned from this experience is that the most effective deterrents against bicycle theft are:

No.1 — to actually want to have your bicycle stolen. When you can do this, you will never have your bike robbed off of you.

No. 2 — make signs on yellow legal notebook paper and tape them to your unlocked bicycle.

They are, perhaps, not foolproof methods, but are apparently more effective than those little cable coils that a lot of people use and find snipped in two. All in all, my methods and Kryptonite locks with insurance guarantees are certainly your best bet for bicycle safety.

For those of you who are bike thieves reading this, just be aware, think twice before you reach for that Schwinn. Remember, there might just be an English major lurking in the bushes, waiting and watching for you to come along — and I can't say that he'll be as kind as me. So watch your back. And give me back the horn you took from my red Schwinn, you turd.

The opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.

• Schwinndled!