The Tale of the Cubby Bare By Jim Gandolf

The Tale of the Cubby Bear

Short Story 

By Jim Gandolf 

©️07252026

July 1977 in Thorntown, Indiana, was hot, sticky, and full of possibility. I had spent the summer pushing a lawnmower through knee-high grass, saving up every single cent I earned. In a small town like Thorntown, a bicycle wasn't just a way to get around—it was absolute freedom.

And my bike? It was everything to me. A ten-speed with a gleaming gold finish, customized with my nickname proudly displayed on it: 

"Cubby Bear."

On that hot July afternoon, I pedaled down to Main Street to treat myself at the local drugstore. Walking into the air-conditioned shop, I stared down the candy aisle, suddenly overwhelmed by options. To make matters harder, I had plans to play basketball with a girlfriend later, and I wanted to pick out something nice for her, too. 

I stood there indecisively, taking my sweet time, weighing chocolate bars against hard candies, trying to make my hard-earned lawn-mowing cash stretch as far as possible.

When I finally made up my mind, paid, and stepped back out onto the sunlit sidewalk, my stomach instantly dropped.

Cubby Bear was gone.

I froze, scanning Main Street. Nothing. I looked around every corner, behind every building, and down every alley. My immediate thought was that my older brother was pulling a cruel joke on me, hiding it somewhere nearby to watch me sweat. But after confronting him and digging around, I realized he had nothing to do with it.

That was the exact moment I transformed from a heart-broken kid into Thorntown’s primary private investigator. I did file a police report and talk to the policeman of the town and then I started asking questions to everybody in that town. 



Determined to get my ride back, I spent days pounding the pavement. I went up and down every street, questioning everyone who would listen. My relentless investigation eventually focused on a specific group of local kids. I pressed hard, gathering clues and tracking down every rumor.

Finally, I put the heat on one particular individual. Between my constant pressure and the weight of his own guilt, the truth came spilling out. A friend named Gary spilled the beans, confirming my suspicions and pointing directly to the culprit—a known local troublemaker. I’ll keep his name to myself, though; people grow up, and hopefully he’s a different man today than he was that summer.

The confession brought relief, but it also brought bad news: my gold ten-speed had been dumped into Sugar Creek.

I took my findings directly to a local police officer I knew and laid out the entire story, step by step, including where Cubby Bear was resting at the bottom of the creek. Fortunately, he believed me. Even better? He happened to be practicing scuba diving at the time.

Without hesitation, the officer geared up, waded into the murky waters of Sugar Creek, and dove under. After a brief search, he resurfaced, pulling my gold ten-speed back into the sunlight.

It was a total blessing. The bike needed some drying out and a little TLC, but "Cubby Bear" was back where it belonged—and Thorntown's newest detective had solved his very first case.

Jim Gandolf