In the missing bicycle justice system, there are two separate yet equally important groups: The airline, who lost the Holland road bike, and the legendary hippie basketball dude, who is in Hawaii and would like to do some tooling around on his bike. These are their stories.
Bill Walton: My bike is missing. I waited for five hours at the Maui airport and it never showed up. I was expecting a magnanimous volcano to come crashing forth upon my ride like a swell from Ho-okipa kissed by Lono himself.
Hawaiian Airlines: You're very famous and have very famous red hair. We don't know where your bike is.
Bill Walton: If you don't turn on your lovelight, I'm going to drop cold rain and snow like we did in Honolulu, at Dave's Place, back in '70.
Hawaiian Airlines: You're a very tall man. It's a very tall bike. It doesn't make sense. But, keep in mind, we are an airline.
Bill Walton: Terrible! Just a terrible call! This big man is throwing it down!
Hawaiian Airlines: We'll keep looking for the giant bicycle we misplaced. In the meantime, we hope you have a long, strange—
BIll Walton: Don't do that. I love my bike. I miss my bike. And I feel you're taking me to Shakedown Street. Let this journey never end. You know where to find me. In a rainbow.