Friday, December 28, 2012

Capital Times


Cardiff and beyond on a rainy December day

What a miserable, waterlogged December we’ve had in the UK – and the rain shows no sign of abating. 

These are not good times for a hiking blog writer; the only walking that Harri and I have done for weeks is completing two short walks around Cardiff for www.walkingworld.com

The ground everywhere is so soggy and boggy that it’s impossible to leave the pavements and tarmac trails unless you have a decent pair of Wellingtons. And after my spectacular puddle dive back in November when I injured my right foot and couldn't run for nearly three weeks, I'm now steering clear of anything that resembles ground water.

A disintegrating Christmas present completes
Newport parkrun
Even the Christmas parkrun was a wash-out; the 150+ hardy runners who braved the torrential rain and thick mud in Newport ended up soaked to the skin and plastered in mud for their efforts (I speak from experience here as I was one of them – starting the race as Mother Christmas, finishing as Alice Cooper). 
Imaginative fancy dress outfits disintegrated in the 20-40 minutes it took parkrunners to splash around the filthy, saturated route at Tredegar House. The lakeside path had been deteriorating for weeks but the conditions on December 22 were the worst I’d ever experienced.

I feel somehow to blame for all this rain. At the end of October, I sent a tongue-in-cheek email to the parkrun newsletter saying:

“As I approach my 50th parkrun at Newport, it’s occurred to me that I’ve never run it in the rain. I’ve only missed two parkruns since I started and I usually complete in under 30 minutes which must mean it never rains in Newport between 9am and 9.30am on Saturday mornings. Perhaps you would consider holding parkrun on a daily basis in the interests of some nice, dry winter mornings?"

Before alarm bells start sounding in the ears of parkrun volunteers, I should add that my suggestion was not greeted with a resounding 'let's do it' (or even printed in the weekly newsletter). I did, however, receive this spirited response from Michael at parkrun HQ.
"Hi Tracy
Thank you for taking the time to write to us. It means a lot!Here at parkrun we like to keep things as simple as possible, which just means providing free 5km runs on a Saturday morning to anyone who wants them. Also, as our events are run by volunteers, I don't think it would be practical to ask them to run an event everyday.Interestingly, there could be a scientific explanation for why it hardly ever rains on a Saturday morning (eg http://www.nature.com/news/2008/080811/full/news.2008.1017.html)
I hope you find this answer interesting."
I digress, but only to emphasize how the seemingly interminable wet weather has forced us to hunt for new territories for our hiking pursuits. For us, Cardiff has become the new Brecon Beacons, the only corner of this lush green country where you don’t need to don thigh-waders to go for a stroll.
Looking across Cardiff Bay towards the Custom House
Wales’ capital city might not boast the spectacular scenery of the Black Mountains or the stunning beaches of Gower, but it does have a lot going for it:

1. It’s flat - flatter than almost any other place in Wales; the mean-spirited might even call it 'vertically challenged'. However, flat means more miles covered per hour, you can see where you’re going and you have enough breath to walk and talk. Flat wins Cardiff lots of brownie points, in my opinion.

Bute Park's paths can get pretty busy
2. Its trails and footpaths are well-used – while generally advantageous, this can occasionally be frustrating. We were forced to wait for several minutes on a corner of Bute Park one Sunday while hundreds of Santa Clauses ran, walked and limped past (hint to the slowbies: an event advertised as a 5k run means you have to move your legs quickly!). On a brighter note, footpaths that are used by other walkers, roller-bladers, cyclists,  students , basically the world and his dog, mean that you can locate them without needing a 1:25,000 OS map and that you can leave your bramble-cutting scythe at home.

3. The proximity of its long-distance trails, e.g. the Taff and Ely Trails, to the shops. Where else in Wales can you finish an eight-mile hike and pop into Tammy Girl to buy your niece’s Christmas present?

The Norwegian Church has an idyllic  location
4. There are nice places to eat en route, sites of interest, activities, pubs.  There are craft shows in the Norwegian Church, whimsical Christmas stalls along the Hayes selling crepes, mulled wine and unusual gifts and you can even stop at the Dr Who Experience if time travel's your thing. 

5. Park and ride  – for people who think life's too short to queue to get into the John Lewis car park (or, like us, are too poor to pay the massive charges).  Cardiff's park and ride offering is amazingly good value (£3 after 8.30 am, just £1 before) and even more convenient for those of us coming from the Newport direction.

6. Cardiff Bay - what an amazing feat of engineering the barrage is. And the views across the Bristol Channel are fantastically disorienting (try to work out which direction the open sea lies - your brain tells you one thing, your eyes another).  I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of being Welsh as when I ran the Cardiff Half Marathon in October. Running across the barrage in glorious autumn sunshine was definitely the highlight of an amazing day.

7. Last, but not least, Cardiff is a vibrant and spectacular city. True, it's taken me 50 years to appreciate what I've got on my doorstep, but that's the trouble with familiarity. Cardiff's always been there on the signposts, just a short train away, a place we went to ice-skate, see a pantomime, Tom Jones in concert or to spend our birthday money. Finally, I can recognise its real attractions.

 
Cardiff Bay has been transformed
in recent years
So, while the British weather continues to do  its worst (and Harri ensures me that it's forecast to carry on raining - now there's a title for a good old British comedy film), you'll likely be finding us wandering around Wales' capital city.

Happy hiking in 2013 everyone!

Saturday, November 3, 2012

They've made a runner out of me



Morwenna and Imogen (and Colin Tebby) arriving for parkrun 

'Congratulations! Our records show that you have completed 50 parkruns. You are now eligible to receive a free parkrun 50 club tee shirt, sponsored by adidas, in recognition of your achievement.’

What parkrunner wouldn't be excited when the above email lands in their mailbox?

50 parkruns! 

That’s 250 kilometres of Saturday morning running with a wonderful crowd of people, many of whom I now class as good friends.

It’s 155 miles circumnavigating the (often muddy) grounds of Tredegar House, mentally ticking off those 1km markers.

It’s 50 separate texts, each one sent to my mobile just after 11am to let me know how my legs have performed that day.

And it's 50 emails noting my overall and  gender positions for that day's run, plus lots of other scintillating statistical information about my own performance and that of my fellow runners (and believe me checking the stats becomes very addictive!).

parkrun is what Saturdays were made for – and what makes it even more of a must-do event is that every week I’m joined by my equally enthusiastic family and friends.

And they're off...
parkrun is now such a massive part of my life that it's impossible to believe that just over a year ago, I’d never even heard of it.

From its humble beginnings at Bushy Park, Teddington, in 2004 (there were just 13 runners for the first run), parkrun is now an international sporting event, providing free, timed weekly 5k runs across the globe.

Founder Paul Sinton-Hewitt wanted to keep parkrun simple. Once a runner is registered, they just turn up unannounced at any event and compete against themselves.

The letters PB resonate with every parkrunner, for they are a constant reminder of the day they exceeded their own expectations and ran the fastest 5k race of their life – their ‘personal best’.

Everyone remembers the turning points in their lives, those moments when everything changes and life will simply never be the same again.

My ‘parkrun moment’ came in late September 2011 when our family was gathered in Caerleon for a meal to celebrate Morwenna’s graduation. My (former) sister-in-law, Catherine, was sitting next to me and, aware I’d taken up running a few years earlier, she asked me if I fancied going along to Tredegar House the following weekend to run a 5k around the lake. It was an organised event, she told me, but a free one. All I had to do was register online in advance and then I’d get timed for my efforts. I’d run the Swansea 10k a year before so the distance wasn't of particular concern. In effect, I was simply going along to hold her hand.

Imogen's efforts are rewarded
A week later, I met Catherine in the car park and the rest, as they say, is history. I was pretty much addicted from day one – though at that point, I had no idea that I’d soon be on first name terms (and Facebook friends) with many of the other runners.

Within weeks Morwenna had joined me, then her father, David, and his other sister, Allyson. The children didn’t want to miss out on the fun so it wasn't long before Amber, 7, Imogen, 6, Megan, 11, Connor, 10, and Abi, 5, were all dashing up the avenue and around the lake. Harri's occasional runs resulted in some impressive results, while his father, Garrod, put his running shoes on for the first time in over 20 years. Morwenna’s school friend Rachel turned up with her fiance (now husband) Wayne and Rachel’s mum, Sue, was soon a regular. 

Julia congratulates Amber on her first parkrun
parkrun was no longer an occasional Saturday morning event but was fast becoming a religion. 

In the Brew House, our after-run family gathering had long outgrown one table and we were regularly ordering tea for eight.

Chatting to fellow volunteers, I learned that one couple – Gareth and Sian – lived a few doors away from me, and I renewed contact with several old school friends and former work colleagues.

As the running bug took hold, Morwenna and I decided to join a club.


Newport parkrun is organised by volunteers from Lliswerry Runners and Caerleon Running Club and we were ‘courted’ by both clubs. After much deliberation, we chose Lliswerry on the basis that the runs were more likely to be flat (Caerleon is far too hilly for my liking).

With encouragement from club members, I achieved the unimaginable in 2012 and completed two half marathons – Llanelli in March and Cardiff in October (with Morwenna).

Nothing can beat the sense of achievement and the exhilaration of running long distances - the changing landscape, the breeze on your face, the adrenalin rush. When it's going well,  I feel like Maria Von Trapp running down those Austrian hillsides.

Tail-running the day before the Cardiff half marathon
When I started running four years ago, I could barely run to the end of Springvale estate without collapsing in a heap.

If anyone had told me then that one day I’d be the proud owner of an exclusive tee-shirt emblazoned with the number 50 to signify that I’d run 50 x 5km races, I’d probably have told them they were bonkers.

But I have. I’ve done it. With a little help from my (running) friends, some weird-looking gel toe tubes from Wilkinsons and lots of orange squash, I’ve become a member of parkrun’s 50 club. I have a big red 50 next to my name on the much-lauded weekly race results page. I have booked a place on my first international half marathon.

At the age of 51, I am proud to call myself a runner.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Wales Coast Path: Beachcomber's Cut Part 2



The unnamed wreck at Cefn Sidan
 Too much X Factor (far, far too much actually), too much port, too little sleep due to Harri’s terrible cough... thank goodness for today’s return to GMT which meant we still managed to vacate our Travelodge room at a reasonable hour.

As a quick aside, Harri and I are fast becoming Travelodge enthusiasts (where else can you find decent Saturday night accommodation for two for £40?) but he was a little alarmed when he recently spotted an online article  about a couple who liked the chain so much that they moved in for good.  I don’t think we’ll be doing that anytime soon, but low Travelodge prices have enabled us to pursue Harri’s hiking career while I’m not bringing in any money.

What a difference in the weather today. After yesterday’s all-day sunshine and clear, azure skies, it was so disappointing to open the blinds to the usual British mizzle.
Harri looks at a smaller wreck (with Gower in the distance)

Today’s mission was to find an alternative to trudging mile after mile on tarmac and gravel trails through Pembrey Forest (which even in its full autumnal glory isn’t particularly scenic). With the magnificent Cefn Sidan beach just a few hundred metres away, Harri was determined that coast path walkers should have the option of strolling along the water’s edge if possible.

It is possible. At a junction where the official Wales Coast Path waymarking directs you even deeper into the forest, is a unsigned track which meanders down to the beach. Confused? Us too. Who makes these crazy decisions? Why would anyone hiking the only ‘formal walking trail to follow every dramatic twist and turn of a nation’s coastline’ (extract from the Ramblers magazine, Walk) prefer to wander aimlessly through a sparse woodland of conifers and, er, other woody things? (Sorry, trees are not my specialist subject.)

Like Pendine, the far northern end of Cefn Sidan is closed Monday to Friday (the RAF uses it as a bombing range) but there are plenty of safe access points further south so missing it out altogether is a crime – and a seemingly motiveless one at that.

The friendly lady in the tourist information centre thought there might be a problem with shifting sands (the sandbanks in the estuaries are constantly shifting), however we don't understand how this constantly evolving landscape would pose a danger to people walking along the beach.

We kept well clear of this kite buggy
Despite the cold wind, there were plenty of people about, including someone whizzing along the water’s edge on a kite buggy and several people windsurfing with parachute, which looked kinda scary in the rough sea. 

As long as you wrap up warm (and remember the flask of tea), beaches are good places to be in blustery weather. 

We paused to look at what remained of an unnamed shipwreck (only visible when the tide is over a third of the way out). Gradually being subsumed by the sand is a large section of the hull, thought to be constructed of northern European oak and estimated to date from the mid to late 1880s.

My Canon Compact adds colour to the greyest of days
Across the grey waves was the distinctive shape of the north Gower coast and the tapering finger of Worm’s Head.

We left Cefn Sidan on an easy path between the dunes; it was just a short stroll back to the car.

Majestic landscapes like Cefn Sidan and Pendine Sands make the Welsh coastline spectacular; they are the reason holidaymakers return to Wales year after year. 

Would someone please inform the Wales Coast Path officials?













Wales Coast Path: Beachcomber's Cut Part 1



Pendine Sands - a vital stretch of the Wales Coast Path
Nearly two months after completing Harri’s guidebook for the official Wales Coast Path, we were still pondering some of the bizarre route choices, specifically why so many of Wales’ best beaches have been completely bypassed.

Anyway, Harri’s publishers, Northern Eye, were more than happy for him to suggest ‘alternative’ routes where he felt the official route wasn’t particularly scenic (or anywhere near the coast), which is how we found ourselves heading back to the Carmarthenshire stretch yesterday.

The first beach we were planning to ‘reveal’ to would-be Wales coastal hikerswas Pendine. Now there is a very good reason why this seven-mile beach is closed to the public sometimes. During WW2, it was acquired by the Ministry of Defence and most of the beach is still used as a firing range from Monday to Friday.

An MOD watch tower 
At weekends, however, there is no logical reason for the long Wales Coast Path detour along the busy Pendine to Laugharne road. We’ve walked this route three times, twice out and once back, and believe me, it sucks. Anyone expecting a coastal walk will be sorely disappointed as the open sea remains hidden behind swathes of MOD land and views of the estuary only become visible towards the end.

Harri’s plan this weekend was to investigate the more scenic route along Pendine Sands and find out if it was possible to head inland at Ginst Point to reach Sir John’s Hill (which later links to Dylan Thomas’s Birthday Walk ).

As you enter the beach at Pendine, there are signs warning of the dangers of unexploded munitions, but if the red flag is not flying, visitors are permitted to stroll along the firm, sandy beach, for miles if they so wish.


Ripples of sand at low tide
On a bitterly cold but gloriously sunny October morning, we set off to uncover the delights of this magnificent beach, the location for many land speed records.

At the Pendine end, we were surrounded by dog walkers, family groups, holidaymakers, outdoor enthusiasts, even runners with dogs, but gradually, as we clocked up the miles, the people fell away until it was just Harri and me, and a vast expanse of sand, sea and sky.

At low tide, Pendine is a beachcomber’s paradise. As we headed east the sea was barely visible. The hard, damp sand was strewn with shells, driftwood and plastic bottles. We passed the remains of a tree, decorated with garish detritus, presumably by passers-by, a heavy wooden door, numerous oil drums and frequently, bundles of hay woven with knotted nets.

The detritus tree adds a splash of colour to the beach
At Ginst Point, there was good news. After leaving the beach we joined a gravel track leading to two car parks and then walked along the old sea wall embankment, enjoying views across the estuary towards Llansteffan Castle and the old ferry crossing point.

We retraced our steps, which is usually very boring but with the tide in, the beach was transformed and we walked along the water’s edge, me looking for shells and Harri just enjoying the late afternoon sunshine.

Today’s walk took a little longer than usual, mainly because I was experimenting with my new Canon Compact camera. The crisp, cold weather was perfect for landscape photography but it didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun with the various settings (my current favourites are monochrome and vivid colours).

Discovering the delights of monochrome

We timed the end of our 18-mile walk perfectly and were just arriving back at Pendine village (too tired even to stop at the pub) as the sun was setting behind the hills of distant Pembrokeshire.

As I pondered which setting to use for that all-important sunset photograph, Harri reminded me that today’s walk had fulfilled all my criteria for the perfect hike: it was coastal, flat, there was no mud and, most important of all, the sun had shone all day.

I agree. It was the perfect hike along a magnificent stretch of sand – so why don’t coast path officials want you to walk it?


Just one of my many sunset photographs 

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Something's getting sore on Route No 4

The original Route 4 through Tredegar Park 
All that blogging about (stolen) bikes must have been prophetic because two weeks ago our trusty X-reg Astra was handed the death sentence by the garage and, for the first time in eighteen months, I found myself back on the saddle.

I have to admit to being an intermittent cyclist. I tend to have mad bursts of enthusiasm, like the few weeks in spring 2010 when I decided it was a great idea to cycle to work regularly and duly pedaled all the way to Croesyceiliog (and back) several times a week. Then there was that awful journey home, the day of our big Queen’s High School reunion at Malpas Cricket Club, when the heavens emptied on me and my run-proof mascara ran and ran until I could barely see where I was going. By the time I reached Fourteen Locks I resembled a one-eyed Alice Cooper, squinting desperately and trying to avoid careering off the towpath and into the lock. The whole experience put me off cycling for quite some time, I can tell you.

On another occasion, Harri and I were cycling in the vicinity of Mynydd Machen and I needed to slow down before negotiating my bike through a rather narrow gap in a fence. Now I can do the nifty little manoevres; I can also (just about) click my way up and down the gears. I’m just not so adept at doing both things at the same time; one minute I was happily wobbling towards Harri, the next I was on the floor with a heavy mountain bike toppled on top of me.

The canal towpath is full of wildlife
There were good times, of course, like the time I realised that cycling uphill was infinitely easier in gear 1:1 and the numerous times I’ve free-wheeled down Laurel Drive; however, of late, my love affair with cycling has dwindled and had Harri not had his ‘brainwave’ (that we could cycle to Cwmbran to look for a new car before he started work in Caerleon at 10 am), I’d probably have left it that way.

But Amazon doesn’t yet sell used cars, so we had no alternative but to go searching. So, at ten past eight on the morning after I’d pounded the streets of Cardiff for 13.1 miles, abandoning gel soles, socks and a water bottle along the way, I found myself perched behind the handlebars of my mountain bike about to tackle another half marathon (and a bit), only this time on wheels.

The world goes by a lot more slowly on a bike – it took me nearly three hours to cycle to Cwmbran, look at two cars and cycle home alone via the longer (flatter) route – and once I’d re-acclimatised myself with the gears, I actually started enjoying meandering around Newport on two wheels.

A landmark which tells me I'm almost there(ish)
When you don’t have to concentrate on the road, predict (I think the proper word’s ‘anticipate’) the entirely unpredictable actions of the driver in front, behind, to the left and to the right, then you start to wake up to the world around you, tuning into the wildlife living in the city.

Like the family of swans preening their feathers on the edge of the canal –  mam and dad swan proudly fussing their four grown-up children; the moor hens darting around on their spindly little legs; the grey squirrels, so used to humans that they barely glanced up as I cycled past. When a rat scampered across the cycle path running alongside the River Usk, it was just another factor in a hugely enjoyable morning.

Despite the aching bottom, I decided that I liked cycling after all.

So much so that the following day I was off again, this time heading to Asda, Raven House Trust (where I am now an enthusiastic volunteer), Capel Court (to deliver Dad’s shopping) and finally, home. By now, my confidence was wheelie soaring (sorry!) and I ignored the well signposted Route 4, choosing instead to pedal through Tredegar Park and beyond. Interestingly, this was the route of the intended cycle path but agreement was never reached on the section through the former golf course.

The now very overgrown Tredegar Park Golf Course (yet more land owned by Newbridge Estates, the company which fought so hard to ruin Rhiwderin village and have now turned the century-old allotments into a monstrous housing estate) is familiar running territory for me, but the uneven terrain was tough on two wheels. After struggling across a stretch of muddy footpath, I headed enthusiastically towards an ornate bridge (it looked solid – and flat) and took a sharp left turn, bouncing down a muddy bank towards the Ebbw. It was only after I’d cycled a fair distance over bumpy ground that it dawned on me that I was on the wrong side of the river and the only way to reach Ford Lane would be to clamber up a ten feet wall with a bike on my shoulders or turn back.

It's tough going up, but even tougher bouncing down
You see, that’s the problem with cycling... take a wrong turning, misjudge a gear and you end up having to extricate a dead weight lump of metal out of a tricky situation... or risk falling off!

On the evening of the half marathon the only muscles that weren’t aching were my gluteals... now two long days on the saddle had ensured that my posterior was suffering as much as everything else.

And so... I abandoned the bike and started walking everywhere, which took even longer, especially when your walking companion is Harri and the marvellous Tredegar Arms pub is en route.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

The Easiest Crime in the World



Nothing to do with cycling or bikes but I like the photo

Well, I promised I’d publish the results of my Freedom of Information request to Gwent Police about the number of bikes stolen in the Gwent area in the years 2009, 2010, 2011 and this year to date.

I must admit to being pleasantly surprised by the speed in which Dylan (the FOI officer) responded to my questions.  By law, he’s allowed 20 working days to respond, however he emailed back in an impressive nine days with most of the information I asked for. Thank you Dylan.

Unfortunately, that’s where the good news ends, because as the figures below confirm, if you're unlucky enough to have your bike stolen in Gwent:
  • you're unlikely to ever set eyes on it again
  • the bike thief is even less likely to be caught.

Amazingly, of the 2682 bikes stolen in Gwent since 2009, only 77 have ever been recovered. That’s a recovery rate of just 2.88% - and it's probable that some of these will have been stripped of their more valuable components.

Even more depressing is confirmation that since 2009, only 149 bike thieves have ever had any contact with Gwent Police and of those only half i.e. 75, have been charged.

Basically if someone steals your bike the likelihood of them being caught and brought to justice is tiny. On the other hand, as Harri found out, if you cycle up Caerleon High Street the wrong way on your own bike, the likelihood of Gwent Police reprimanding you is very high!

But back to bike theft. Someone told me that it's now so well organised that professional thieves actually follow cyclists home from popular mountain bike trails, like the one at Cwmcarn Forest. 

They then break into their garages/sheds when the cyclists are sleeping or at work. It's easy, the perfect know-you-won't-ever-be-arrested-and-go-to-prison crime. 

If this is true, why aren't the police doing more to crack down on the highly-organised gangs of bike thieves? Harri's bike wasn't stolen by an opportunist teenager, as the CCTV film footage clearly shows, and my brother-in-law's bike was securely locked in premises far removed from casual passers-by. In both situations, the thefts were carefully planned and professionally executed with strong metal cutters, but the police don't seem interested (and that's the polite version).

As we suspected, these official figures from Gwent Police provide indisputable evidence that bike theft is a crime where the perpetrators can be almost 97% certain that they won’t ever be caught and brought to justice.

And that's just not acceptable.

For anyone interested in the full figures, here they are:

Bikes Stolen


2009
821
2010
725
2011
724
2012
412 (so far)

Grand total

2682

Recovered

2009
35
2010
18
2011
14
2012
10 (so far)

Grand total

77

Charged

2009                  14
2010                  33
2011                  17
2012                  11

Grand total          75

Summons

2009                    1
2010                         0
2011                    3
2012                    2

Grand total            6

Cautioned 

2009                   20
2010                   13
2011                   18
2012                     3

Grand total          54

Youth restorative disposal

2009                     0
2010                     0
2011                     1
2012                     2

Grand total              3

Discontinued at court*

2009                     5
2010                     4
2011                     0
2012                     0

Grand total              9


* a prosecution may be discontinued before or during the trial. This might arise where, for example, it is clear that there is no longer a realistic prospect of obtaining a conviction.


Sunday, September 30, 2012

Bike theft - the forgotten crime



Best to keep a bike owner's identity secret

I don’t usually write about bikes; generally, I prefer to get around on four wheels (or foot) but bikes are very much on my mind at the moment.

The reason? My lovely brother-in-law had his new bike stolen from a locked garage last week – he’d used it just four times and was understandably very upset and angry about the theft.

The crime appears to be the work of professional thieves who, not only knew when their property would be unattended, but arrived with metal cutters strong enough to cut effortlessly through a large padlock.

The whole incident was over in seconds – and if you’re wondering how I know that, it’s because Harri had his own bike stolen in broad daylight in Caerleon High Street in July 2010. We didn’t have to surmise what happened because it was all there, captured on the grainy black and white film of the Roman Museum’s  CCTV camera.

The previous day’s footage revealed two tall, hooded men walking confidently into the forecourt in front of Harri’s place of work (then closed) and checking out possible escape routes – they had a good look around, it’s all there on film.

Coincidentally (!), on his way home earlier that week, a group of younger teenagers hanging around on the pavement had shouted ‘nice bike’ as Harri cycled past. Maybe it’s wrong to put two and two together but there are kids who will do anything for a tenner.

Fast forward to the following lunchtime when Harri disappeared to the staff room at his usual time. He returned half an hour later to find his bike, which was padlocked to the metal railing, gone.

Needless to say, he was gutted. Which is exactly how Paul felt last week. Bikes are not cheap and neither are they automatically covered by most people’s household insurance policies.

In our case, all was not lost. Afterall, the CCTV footage suggested the thieves were the same men who’d stalked the place the previous day. Not kids but big, strong men, one of whom pulled large metal cutters from under his hoodie. As one man kept a lookout, completely unperturbed by the passing cars, the other leaned over the high railing, cut through the lock and lifted the bike effortlessly onto the pavement. Armed with this footage, we were confident that the police would quickly recognise and arrest the culprits.

Not a chance. The police’s standard reaction to a non-violent crime is to issue a crime reference number – for the insurance you usually can’t claim. And just in case, you’re thinking the police had carried out some investigations, the CCTV footage came to light when concerned museum staff presented it to Harri. Stealing a bike, however valuable (Harri’s was worth about £1,500) simply doesn’t rate as a crime in police eyes. Or not one they care to do anything about.

My brother-in-law, who was on holiday when the theft of his bike took place (it was reported by his brother), was promised a visit by police officers last night. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t show; no phone call, no explanation, just no show.

Nothing’s changed then. In 1994, my daughters’ new mountain bikes were stolen from our padlocked garden shed. After a tip-off, my ex found both bikes in the garden of the teenage thief. We tried talking to his mother but she said she couldn’t be expected to know what her son was getting up to, the boy himself said he’d found both bikes abandoned on wasteland and the police . . . did absolutely nothing.

Okay, I understand they have to prioritise resources. Bike theft isn’t (usually) violent so it’s never going to warrant the attention given to more violent crimes; nonetheless, it is a growing crime and it affects a lot of hard-working people who are simply trying to get to work without getting into their cars and polluting the atmosphere. Theft is theft. If I was to steal a pair of knickers from Tesco, I’m pretty certain I’d be prosecuted, but bike thieves know that they’ll get away with it.

An article on BBC News claims ‘More than 26,000 bicycles were reported stolen to the Metropolitan Police last year, up a third on five years ago, BBC London has learned. Arrests for thefts and numbers of bikes recovered by the police are also down on last year.’

When you consider that only one in four bike thefts are reported in the first place, that’s an awful lot of bikes disappearing, around 71 a day in London alone.
Given my family’s experiences with bike theft and the dire response of the police on each occasion, it’s no wonder people don’t think it’s worth the effort of reporting this upsetting crime.
There’s some interesting stuff about avoiding bike theft on this blog.
In the mean time, I shall be putting in a Freedom of Information request to Gwent Police asking how many bike thefts were reported last year and how many arrests/bike recovered. 
Watch this space.