Where did all the bikes go?

Heaps of Rust

I was out on my Summer Solstice Stroll through the city in search of some inspiration, when I came across this typical Amsterdam tableau. Most of it looks like what you see in the average pictures of Amsterdam and in paintings by old and new masters: the canal, the boats, the murky waters, the 17th century gables half-hidden behind the fresh green summer foliage of rows and rows of elms.
This time there is more.
Did you ever wonder where all the bikes go?
Now you know. They go into the canals: the stolen bikes, the broken bikes, the grrrrmph-I-lost-my-key bikes, the ex-boyfriend bikes, the ex-girlfriend bikes, the callow-tourist bikes. Somehow they all end up in the canals. Today is the day that the city fishes them out, as some kind of ultimate deed of spring cleaning.
Watching that barge filled with dead bikes started my brain spinning. The 'what ifs' reeled around inside my skull. What if there was more in that grab crane than bikes? What if an arm stuck out? What if a leg stuck out? What if the bike went under with its driver still on it? What if our local thugs buried the competition under these heaps of rust?
How's that for inspiration? Gruesome, I agree, but that's okay because I am a thriller writer.