A dark day

Today my bike was stolen. Welcome to New Zealand.

I rode about 7 km outside of town to a trail going up Mt. Cargill, the highest mountain in the vicinity of Dunedin. The hike was awesome and I have pictures, which I'll have to share once I stop fuming. When I arrived at the trailhead I found two options for locking my bike: either chain it to the playground or chain it to a tree. Since there were some kids playing, I didn't want to interfere with them so I chained it to a tree in a somewhat inconspicuous location. I felt safe doing this because
A) I chained my bike to trees all the time in the States and never had any problem.
B) Everyone around looked like outdoors types who would respect what I was doing.
C) Who carries a saw with them for a hike or mountain bike ride?

I did the hike, which took about 2 hrs, and upon returning found the tree sawed off and my bike no where to be seen. Feeling pretty nauseated, I inspected the parking lot, but there were no clues to be had. I stumbled back to town, found the police station, and reported the crime. It turned out there was a wait to report because a man I had seen on the hiking trail had had his car broken into. So we were victims of a professional criminal.

I can't help but feel the irony of this situation in regards to our time in Africa. In a place where people had told us we would be mugged, shot, and looted, we never had any problems. And within my first week in NZ, my bike is gone.

I had the bike for about 6 years. It was worth a fair amount, but it meant a lot more than that to me. In a strange land, my red Trek was my sole prized possession. I worked hard to keep it clean and in good repair. I suppose I'll buy a new one soon, once I scrounge up some cash and have had a bit of mourning.