PHILADELPHIA — Lajuane Stewart’s bikes over the years have been his economic engine to deliver Grubhub and Uber Eats, so he is rightfully incensed whenever one gets stolen — which has been more often than he can recall.
Two years ago, he purchased a new, expensive electric bike as a replacement to help with his 100-mile rounds. This time, he mounted an Apple AirTag GPS device under the seat — a small device that helped him track, surprise, and confront two thieves caught in the act.
“I have to keep track of the bike,” Stewart said. “If I don’t have it, I’m not making money.”
Nothing seems to stop Philly’s determined bike thieves, who use bolt cutters, pry bars, power tools, and even low-tech devices such as a 2x4 to wedge between locks and posts until one or the other gives way. Most don’t seem to care that they are often captured on video.
Since 2018, 6,416 bicycles have been reported stolen to Philadelphia police, according to data supplied by the department, and surely an undercount because so many thefts go unreported.
Stewart is just one of many Philadelphians who have decided to try to hunt down their bikes or find the thieves, who are undeterred by Kryptonite locks and steel cables latched to posts on bustling city streets, stowed in yards, and even hidden in parking garages.
But cyclists are equally tenacious. They know their stolen-bike report isn’t going to get much attention with police dealing with a surge in violent crime.
So they use technology as an electronic bloodhound, help one another track sightings, and, even though it might not always be wise, set up their own stings and confront thieves.
They bond through social media such as the Facebook group Philadelphia Stolen Bikes, where they post pictures of taken Treks, captured Cannondales, and ripped-off Raleighs. They post doorbell videos and share surveillance. One post shared details of an ad hoc chop shop under I-95 where thieves can grab parts they need.
Some victims get lucky and recover their bikes; most do not.
The first time Stewart’s bike was stolen it was locked to a steel post on a city street while he made a food delivery. He saw it as a lesson learned.
“There’s really nothing you can do to stop your bike from being stolen,” said Stewart, who lives in University City.
He bought the $2,500 Juiced bike to help make his business more efficient. In January, the bike was locked outside the Fashion District when it was stolen. Stewart dashed inside to where police were patrolling and reported the theft.
“I hope you find it,” one of the officers told him without much encouragement.
Stewart immediately beckoned an Uber and followed the moving bike in real time on his phone through the AirTag’s GPS.
“I tracked it to a pawnshop where the guy was still inside trying to sell it,” Stewart recalled. “I told him, ‘It’s mine, and I tracked you on the phone.’ He just looked at me, and said, ‘OK, here you go.’”
Fed up after that theft, Stewart paid $100 for a Kryptonite lock with insurance, but it still wasn’t enough.
In April, he secured the bike with its new lock at 30th Street Station, figuring there was enough pedestrian foot traffic to deter thieves. He boarded a train for a two-day trip to Virginia. The bike was gone when he returned. Stewart turned on the GPS once again.
“I could see the bike was in Southwest Philadelphia,” said Stewart, who brings a friend along when he confronts thieves. “I found the guy at 61st and Woodland. I called to him and said, ‘Is that your bike?’“ He lied about the bike, Stewart said, but also said it wasn’t his and “gave it back without trouble.”
Now, when Stewart locks his bike, he also removes the battery so the bike is difficult to ride.
When Misha Prostorov of South Philly came across a vintage 1985 HPV bike for sale, he knew he had to have it. The bike was made in his hometown of Kharkiv, Ukraine, which was recently retaken from Russia in the war.
Using multiple locks, he secured the bike Aug. 17 to a street sign and left it overnight. The bike was old “and not very attractive,” Prostorov said, believing no one would want to steal it.
He was wrong.
Leaving it overnight “was my first mistake,” Prostorov said. “It doesn’t matter how many locks you have on it.”
“I don’t even understand why someone would steal it,” he said. “You wouldn’t get much money for it. It’s very upsetting.”
Prostorov launched his own investigation.
“I talked to a few homeless people who hang around Seventh and Washington and showed them a picture of my bike. One said that he saw a person with the bike the previous night. He was carrying it and trying to sell it, and they gave me a description of him.”
Through Facebook, Prostorov identified a suspect who had previously tried to sell a friend’s stolen bike, and the homeless people identified him as the same man. Prostorov went to where he believed the suspect lived on Oregon Avenue.
“I was able to locate a bunch of frames, rims, and tires just laying on a sidewalk near one house,” Prostorov said. “It seemed to me like it was a chop-shop setup at the house. So I kept going back there. Then I saw the exact person who had stolen my friend’s bike a year ago.”
Prostorov went to police, but they told him there was not enough evidence to pursue the theft. He still hopes to recover the bike.
Jordan Chu, a pediatrician, moved to Philadelphia from Scranton a few years ago. He began cycling in 2021 during the pandemic, ultimately becoming victim of a brazen theft that’s left him in search of the second bike that’s been stolen in the short time he’s lived in the city.
After the first bike was stolen, Chu, 29, purchased a vintage Trek bike “still in tip-top shape” that was used by the USPS team in a Tour de France run. “It was the smoothest ride I’ve even been on,” he said.
That ride lasted less than a month.
Chu locked the carbon-fiber bike one weekday morning in August to a rack across from his office near busy Eighth and Chestnut, believing it was one of the safest spots in Philly.
At lunchtime, as people walked by, a man used a long metal pipe to pry and hammer the lock until it gave way. He dropped the pipe and left with the bike.
Chu left work at 7 p.m. and discovered that the bike was missing.
“I was absolutely shocked” by the daytime theft, Chu said. “It was right outside of a very busy street where cops frequently walk. So I was stunned to see the effort that he put into it. … He just knocked the lock until it broke and left the pipe he used just sitting there.”
Chu persuaded the security department of a nearby building to share the video that captured the theft.
“As I was about to walk away, some police happened to be biking by,” Chu recalled. “So I stopped them and made a report, but they basically said there was essentially nothing they can do unless I found the person who stole the bike, called them, and said, ‘Hey, I need your help to get my bike back.’”
Jonathan Stanwood, a Center City lawyer, turned to social media when his bike was stolen. As he scrolled through the Facebook group for stolen bikes, he came across a woman’s post about seeing her stolen bike listed on Craigslist for $250.
The owner asked the group’s advice on meeting the seller to try to get her bike back. Stanwood, fearing she would act alone, offered to help. (The woman did not respond to a request from The Inquirer to tell her tale. But Stanwood agreed to share his part of the story from March 2020.)
“I said, ‘If you’re going to set this guy up, don’t do it alone,’” Stanwood said.
Police and bike groups don’t recommend stings because of the potential danger. And they are ambivalent about buying back a stolen bike, fearing it just encourages theft.
Regardless, Stanwood and the woman reached out to the seller, suspecting he was the thief. Stanwood also reached out to 17th District police, who said they would not take part in what Stanwood described as a sting but would monitor it.
Stanwood and the woman rented a Zipcar and arranged to meet the suspected thief in Grays Ferry.
“We were on the street corner at about 7 o’clock at night, and it was still somewhat daylight, and the guy comes up on a bike,” Stanwood recalled. “He looked like he was in his early 20s.”
The man arrived on a bike that didn’t belong to the woman. After some banter, he left and came back with her bike.
“I said, ‘Dude, this is her bike,’ You stole it,’” Stanwood recalled.
The suspect started to walk away when two police officers arrived in an SUV and confronted him. The man denied stealing the bike, and police let him leave. The woman got her bike back, but police said there was not enough evidence to connect him to the theft.
“She rode her bike away calmly and I drove the Zipcar back,” Stanwood said. “And that was it.”
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