Mine live in the cupboard under the stairs, wheels out and crammed in. These would be fairly easy to pinch, were it not for my wife’s ridiculous town bike, complete with basket and child seat, shoved in last for good measure.
Frankly, if anyone can be bothered shifting that behemoth out the way and trying to extract it through the narrow cupboard door, they’re welcome to the good bikes underneath. I’ve been granted an afternoon of freedom to ride my bike today, and I genuinely don’t know if I can be bothered trying to get my bike out the cupboard.
I’ve always taken the view that breaking into a house is a step above breaking into a shed, in terms of the level of criminality (I don’t know if the law sees it that way). By that I mean, for every ten scrotes that would be willing to burgle a shed, where there’s a decent chance of legging it if disturbed, only a couple would have the minerals to break into a secured house, with the potential consequences that may bring. I may well be being completely naive there, though.
I’ve always had this belief too, my ‘best’ bike is therefor in the living room in the inglenook fire place in the summer, and wherever it p*sses the Mrs off least most in the winter.
