The Unlucky Bike Thief

In Copenhagen in 2016, on a residential street in the inner city, a man stood across the road from a bike rack and identified the highest-value object in it: a black Christiania cargo bike. Three wheels. Wooden box on the front. The kind of bike that, in Copenhagen, signals a particular demographic — typically a parent with one to three small children, occasionally a small business owner, occasionally a man with a dog. Christiania bikes retailed at fifteen to twenty-five thousand kroner each. They were, by the standards of the Copenhagen bicycle economy, expensive.

The bike was locked. With a wheel lock — standard for Christiania bikes, but the lower-grade version, the kind that can be defeated by a small bolt cutter or, as in this case, a small steel bar levered against the latch.

Ninety seconds

He worked the lever for approximately ninety seconds. He had been observing the bike rack from across the street. He had selected a moment when the street was empty. The lock gave. He climbed onto the saddle. He pushed off. He rode. Northbound. Up a narrow side street. He had not, by the police's later reconstruction, planned an exit route in detail. He intended to ride approximately two kilometres to a known fence operation in another part of the city, where he would offload the bike for cash. The route was straightforward. The traffic was light. The plan was, in his estimation, low-risk.

It was low-risk for the first hundred and forty metres.

The owner across the street

The owner of the bicycle had been at a café across the street from the bike rack. He had returned to the rack to retrieve his bike. He had observed, immediately, that the Christiania was missing. He had then observed, in the distance, the back of a man riding a black Christiania bike northbound up the side street.

He made what was, by Copenhagen-bike-theft standards, an unusually quick decision. He chased the thief. In his car. Which was parked twenty metres away. He got into the car. He started the engine. He pulled out into the street. He drove northbound. He accelerated. He intended, by his own subsequent statement to police, to get ahead of the bike, pull over, and confront the thief.

The collision

He did not get ahead of him. The thief was riding fast. The owner was driving fast. The street was narrow. The owner attempted, in the heat of the moment, to close the gap of approximately forty metres more quickly than was, in retrospect, advisable.

The car connected with the rear of the Christiania bike at approximately twenty kilometres an hour. The bike toppled forward. The thief was thrown from the saddle, over the wooden cargo box, onto the pavement. He landed approximately three metres in front of his stolen vehicle. He was, by accounts, briefly winded. He was not seriously injured.

The conversation

The owner stopped the car. He got out. He walked over to the thief. The thief was lying on the pavement. The bike was on its side. The owner stood over the thief. The thief looked up. The owner looked down. They had, the police's later interviews established, a brief and confused conversation. The owner asked the thief why he had stolen the bicycle. The thief, presumably trying to assess the situation, asked the owner whose bicycle it was. The owner said: it is my bicycle.

The thief paused. He said, in Danish: oh. He said this, by police record, approximately three times.

The owner then telephoned the Politi. The thief, who had at that point realised he was bracketed between a stolen bicycle, the owner of the stolen bicycle, and his own minor injuries, did not attempt to escape. He sat up. He waited. The Politi arrived approximately seven minutes later.

Trial

The case was tried at the Københavns Byret — Copenhagen City Court. He was convicted of theft under section 276 of the Danish criminal code. The sentence was within the standard range. The judge, in passing sentence, noted that the defendant had stolen a bicycle and then been hit, by the bicycle's owner, in the bicycle's owner's car, on the same street, within ninety seconds of the theft. The judge noted that this was, statistically, an unusually rapid recovery for a bicycle theft in Copenhagen.

The owner was, very briefly, also subject to investigation. Danish law does not look kindly on the use of motor vehicles to intercept fleeing suspects. The Politi reviewed the circumstances. They concluded that the contact had been low-speed, that the injuries had been minor, and that the owner had been, in the moment, attempting to recover his property without intending serious harm. Charges were not filed. The owner was given an informal warning. He kept the bike.

Copenhagen has, among European cities, an unusually engaged civilian population on the matter of bicycle theft. A Christiania bike is a specifically identifiable object. There are not that many of them in any given Copenhagen neighbourhood. The owner does not need a registration plate to recognise the bike at a hundred metres. He recognises the silhouette. The thief had identified the most valuable bike on the rack. He had not, in his planning, considered that the owner of that specific bike was at a café across the street, with a car parked twenty metres away.

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Listen to the full story on Dumb Crimes Europe, Episode 19. Stream the episode here.