5 things to do when your bike has been stolen in the Netherlands

 Did you wake up, stretch out your arms, look out the window, and realise your bike is no longer waiting for you outside?

Firstly, we’re sorry for your loss. Secondly, here’s what to do when someone steals your bike in the Netherlands.

It’s true what they say; you’re not a true Dutchie until you’ve had your bike stolen. I thought I was immune to this rite of passage, having had my first Dutch bike (and best friend) for a whole year.

It was love at first sight. After trying numerous other second-hand rust buckets, I saw Ethel and knew she was the one.

Yes, I am one of those people — a bike namer. But I was charmed by the idea of being a cyclist in the Netherlands.

Ethel in the park! Image: Emily Hine/Supplied.

Before moving here, I imagined riding through the Dutch countryside on my omafiets, windmills whirring in the background, effortlessly whizzing across the flat landscape.

In reality, cycling in the Netherlands is a different, very sobering experience.

5. Always listen to the Dutch!

When my new Dutch friends would ask me to go somewhere, and we’d all hop on our bikes, I’d feel like part of the gang. They told me always to make sure I doubled locked my bike.

One lock on the wheel and one to chain the bike to an immovable object so the thieves couldn’t easily snatch it away. I dutifully followed this advice, and for a whole year, Ethel and I enjoyed many adventures together in blissful harmony.

The Dutch and cycling are one big harmony anyways:

Until King’s Day. That drunken mess of a day when all rules go out of the window.

I had cycled home from celebrating in the Stadspark, eager to continue the night’s celebrations in the city centre, so I was too lazy (or too drunk) to take my bike into the bike shed. This was my first mistake.

READ MORE | Biking the Dutch dream: The Dutch and their bikes

The next day, I didn’t emerge until well past midday, too intoxicated to ride a bike. So, when I searched for hangover food, I didn’t give a second thought to poor Ethel. My second was to forget the advice of the people who know bikes best and only lock my back wheel with a ring lock.

4. Check if it’s gone

The next day was back to reality and back to work. As usual, I searched for my trusty steed in amongst all the other bikes on the racks. A minute passed, and I still couldn’t find her.

Oh, silly me! I naively thought, I must still be tired and haven’t spotted my purple ribbon-wearing beauty yet.

Five minutes passed. By this point, I was frantically muttering, “Ethel? Ethel?? Where are you?” Time was ticking. I was late for work. Still, I refused to accept that she had gone.

3. Tell everyone you know

I messaged work in denial. “I think someone has stolen my bike! I’m just looking for it — sure it will turn up!”.

Messages of condolence started flooding in from my co-workers. It finally dawned on me when I spotted my ring lock cut in half in the spot I always parked in — someone stole my bike.

When you're bike/best friend gets stolen  pic.twitter.com/eFqot3bq3O

— Emily Hine (@_EmilyHine) April 28, 2017

I told everyone I knew, friends and family, random passers-by, basically anyone who would listen. There was a method to my madness, though.

The more people who know your bike is stolen, the more people who will look out for it. There’s always a ray of hope that your bike may find its way back to you!

2. Allow yourself time to mourn

The next few days were pitiful. I mourned the loss of a bit of metal and two wheels.

Every bike I walked passed, I checked for the ribbon, the handlebar grip falling off and listened for the weird squeak she makes as she breaks.

Okay, Ethel was far from perfect, but she was mine. I felt let down by the whole Dutch cycling thing. I needed time to grieve.

1. Time to move on

Every bike was the same. They just weren’t as good as my first. My friend took me out shopping for a new bike to cheer me up. Eventually, I found Pamela, and she was okay. She works, and that’s all you can ask from a bike, but the magic was gone.

Now I’m just another bitter cyclist who thinks it’s not worth getting attached to a bike in the Netherlands; they’ll just get stolen anyway.