Many Americans wake up in the morning, have their cup of coffee, get dressed and expect to find their car parked in the garage. Most Chinese do the same — except they look for their bicycle parked in the garage. They keep them locked away, safe, because if you live in Beijing, chances are it could be stolen — like mine was, just two days after I bought the bike and its supposedly strong lock from a gritty bike peddler outside the school’s west gate.

How can these people live if their mode of transportation is taken from underneath them at a moment’s notice? What are the chances the thief could even reach the pedals of the bike bought specifically for my 6-foot-4 frame? All the same, looking back one day, I will be able to say I experienced a common Chinese frustration when I found my bike missing.

China is home to more than 470 million bicycles, or a bicycle for every man, woman and child in the United States, Canada and Mexico. It’s more than likely bike thefts will happen when you live in an urban area as large as Beijing. Locals say you’re not a true Beijinger until you’ve had your bike stolen. One report from China Daily is about a Ph.D. candidate at Peking University, the university right next to mine, who has gone through six bikes in the six years he’s lived in the city.

‘I was lucky because I lost only one bike while I was at college in Beijing,’ said Chang Xu, a recent graduate, in a CBS News segment from China. ‘But I heard about a professor at our school who was angry because so many of his bikes had been stolen. He bought a brand new bike and put six locks on it and left a note saying, ‘Can you steal this!?!’ When he returned, he found a seventh lock attached to his bike with a note, ‘Can you open this?”

The cheapest, biggest bike in all my journeys around campus was about 100 yuan, or $14. When the bike dealer yanked that sucker out of a snow bank — yes, a snow bank — it looked like it had seen more years of the Cultural Revolution than Chairman Mao Zedong. Its chain rattled, and the rusted metal creaked as it was pulled forward.

It was certainly big enough, but it was a clunker.

‘Wo bu yao, xie xie,’ I said in my elementary Mandarin. ‘I don’t want, thank you.’

So instead, I had to spring for a new, top-of-the-line bike. It glided like the wind and seemed to move faster than my car at home. But my bike was promptly stolen — thanks, China.

Now I write this not out of angst or anger but to explain the spirit of adventure I had in coming to China. Yes, I knew there would be days when I would witness the miraculous site of the Great Wall or the fireworks during the New Year celebrations. But there are also the days when you wake up, have your cup of coffee and realize your bike has been stolen.

These are the days you really learn about yourself. Are you the type who will be angry for the rest of the day or the type to take a breath, run off to class and buy a new bike that afternoon? China is no paradise. It doesn’t pretend to be. But I’m sure if Marco Polo had his bike stolen, he’d deal with it. Or like me, he’d buy a new bike with a better lock and keep it up in his room.

Andrew Swab is a junior magazine journalism and international relations major. His column appears occasionally, and he can be reached at ajswab@syr.edu.

Published on February 27, 2011 at 12:00 pm