The Saga Continues . . .

Thinking the bicycle seat thing was just a Halloween prank, I decided to ride my bike to the train station yesterday. The first problem was, having walked my bike home last Wednesday, I hadn't noticed that the little punk had let the air out of my back tire. Time being of the essence, as always, I decided to take Scott's bike instead. The seat on his bike is clamped on and doesn't have the convenient little lever that mine does. I had some misgivings, but I decided to be trusting.
Upon returning from my Italian lesson, I alighted from the train and noticed right away that someone had taken the plastic "raincoat" that the seat usually wears and stuck it under the rack over the rear tire. Ha, ha, very funny. As a bonus, they flattened the front tire. Another walk home with a bike.
I'm now entertaining fantasies of staking out the train station. I figured I could bring my folding chair and camp out sometime before two and wait for the little darling to show up. I of course was going to bring a bike as bait. Today I've ruled out making this little fantasy reality, due to relative intertia on my part. The other problem would be telling them what for in Italian. Maybe I could just cuss the charming little prankster out in English. That might just confuse him enough, and he would have the benefit of telling everyone about the crazy foreigner.
You must realize that the train station is not some hub of activity with endless streams of people coming and going. During rush hour, the usual crowd that gets off in S. Cristoforo consists of at most six people. I've counted, as I have some strange obsession with counting the number of people in most situations, provided that it is under 20 people. In D.C. I used to count the number of people in the elevator at the Metro stations, and sometimes I would further subdivide it into the number of men and women. As an aside to my aside, there were always more women in the later part of the rush hour. If I left work at 4pm I was usually the only woman on the ride up. Yesterday, I counted the number of students in my Italian class, and I noticed that I do this everytime. I wonder what that says about my personality. Back to our regularly scheduled train station. The building itself was built in the later half of the 1800's when Trentino was part of Austria. I've seen period postcards and the building hasn't changed a bit. What has changed is that the station building is in part used to store items needed to stock the ticket automat, and various other sundries. The other larger part of the station is a home for a employee of the railway. My neighbor informs me that sometime in the 1980's the trains stopped stopping in S. Cristoforo and only resumed within the past 3 or 4 years. The point is that this is neither a big city station nor even a well-used commuter station, and I'm really pissed that I can't ride my bike there anymore unless I want to risk having a flat tire.
Thankfully my tire was not slashed, just emptied. The real pisser is that when I tried to ride it yesterday for all of 2 feet, the tire became unsealed from the rim and I'll have to take it to be repaired anyway. I thank God everyday that I am no longer a teenager, but too bad someone else has to be one.