Stories: Lyon Bike Story
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| I was a new missionary in Lyon in 1976. We lived in Villerbanne. One Sunday we were on our way home and I ran into the back of a brand new car on my bike. My comp was ahead and kept going. I couldn't speak the language at all and the driver of the car was furious. He yelled and threw up his arms and got back in his car and got out again and yelled some more and finally gave up and left me on the ground. I took a pretty nice piece of blue paint off of his car and it ended up on my handlebar. My companion found me about 2 hours later because I didn't have a clue where I was. Lyon had 2 million people at the time and I had been there less than a week. Anyway, this would not be a story except for the events that took place two months later. My comp and I went to a zone conference at the new chapel on the other side of town. While there, both our bikes were stolen. We reported it to the police (I'm not sure why) and when we got back to our apartment we found some really old three gear bikes with balloon tires in the cave under the apartment that missionaries from 1945 left behind. We bounced around on these bikes for about three weeks and one day we got a call from the police asking us to look at a bike they had recovered. We traversed town once again and walked into the police station. Here was a bike neither one of us recognized. As I looked more closely I realized that this was my bike. The bike had been painted from white to pea green, had new pedals, new decals and new tires but I knew it was mine. I was able to identify the blue paint from that new car I ran into, it was still on the handlebars. That was the only recognizable factor. I had that bike until it fell apart two years later. We never know when bad luck will come in handy. |
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