I’m sorry to admit, dear readers, but no, I am not a hero.

This last Wednesday, while heading over to The Axe and Palm to enjoy sterile, fluorescent lighting and sub-optimal overpriced food, I happened upon a man biking away from the nearby parking lot at speeds quite astonishing for 11 p.m., especially given the complete absence of a bike light. These speeds were even more astonishing given that he was biking through a narrow, relatively populated hallway and, amazingly, down a flight of stairs.

He was clutching a bag of something, hidden under a large white and black camouflage coat. He was being trailed by not one but two Stanford police officers, driving large SUVs with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Now, I’m no suburban kid — I knew the full significance of this situation.

This guy had clearly just stolen something. And now he happened to be barreling straight for me as I parked my teal 70s racing bike near the entrance of The Axe and Palm. I was in his way, seconds from having my stylish vintage bicycle ruined. What would you have done in this situation?

Well, here’s where I have to admit that I let the bastard pass me. True, part of this was out of fear of being hit by his quickly moving bicycle. But what do you do in a situation like that? Throw something at the guy? Trip the bicycle? Grapple him?

What followed was a tense few seconds, filled with confusion for all involved. Personally, I was still awaiting the officer’s go-ahead to begin bear-hugging the petty thief in the name of justice and the American Way. After all, I am a relatively athletically fit individual. Given the presence of the bag, I could have easily put the punk off balance and then proceeded to step on his face or something. I was ready to make sure whose ever GPS was stolen from their well-outfitted BMW could feel a sense of justice at the valiant takedown of the fearsome villain. But my courageous rescue all hinged on the answer to one question: Mr. Officer, would it be OK for me to take down this perp?

The perpetrator himself, on the other hand, was probably quivering in his metaphorical boots, noting that such an athletically fit individual as myself could easily take him — “Perhaps this athletically fit individual’s sense of vigilante justice could at least this once be overshadowed by his love of soggy crepes, as he decides to enter that building behind me!” he mused, clutching his paper bag (potentially) filled with stolen GPS devices. His actions themselves all hinged on one question: “athletically fit individual in front of me, would it be OK for me to continue on my merry way?”

Finally, the police officer, driving his vehicle in an area obviously designed for pedestrian traffic, was probably himself wondering if I would be stupid enough to intervene. His actions hinged on this question: “Idiot who happens to be standing between us and the guy we’re trying to catch, would it be OK to let us take over and apply our years of expertise?”

I had to conclude, in one instant, that these potential concerns of the police officer were the most valid here. But, by god, as I watched the man in the camouflage jacket rocket across the facade of the Old Union and down the stairwell on the other side, I couldn’t help but think of my cowardice. I could have stopped this guy!

Reflecting later, some rational part of me was able to justify my action . . . or rather, lack of action, in this situation: those “heroes” we see on the news — those guys in the right place at the right time who happened to stop a criminal by tripping him or what have you — well, those guys are nothing more than lucky idiots. Think of all the people who try to stop criminals and fail . . . they must exist as well, but they’re not so exceptional and thus don’t get as much press time.

It is only under the small possibility that I try to stop this guy and succeed that I would get fame and glory. Then I could write my Daily column about actually being a hero, instead. Barring the possibility of someone finding out that I had made the whole thing up, I could reap the infamy of my exceptional case and make people just like me believe in the power of vigilante justice.

But no, it didn’t turn out that way. Call me a coward if you will, but I let the man go. I am not a hero, and I do not claim to be. I chose a soggy crepe instead.

Nat did not actually see this criminal apprehended. If you have any idea of what became of him, send him an email at nat.hillard@stanford.edu.