chisel
Sun 2/4/07, 11:17PM
So... This past Wednesday I rode my cage to work. There had been a chance of rain and work was calling for long hours so I didn't want to ride. My roommate works at the same company as I do, so we carpool on occasion. He was with me Wednesday night for the trip home.
We arrive at our apartment complex and drive into the small underground communal parking garage. We were chattering away at each other about work, etc. when suddenly I notice that my R1 isn't where I left it. In fact, it is nowhere to be found whatsoever.
"Dude, where's your bike," my roommate says.
"I have no fucking idea... God damn it!"
I parked the cage and jumped out, and ran up to our apartment to ask my roommate's girlfriend (who also lives with us) when the last time she saw my bike was.
"It's not in the shop?" she asked bewildered.
I call the police. I tell them to turn on my Lojack immediately. They tell me they can't over the phone, I have to come down to the station.
So I grab my girlfriend, who has just arrived, and we speed down to the station. The cop on duty takes my information and calls a clerk to help finish up the paperwork. She takes my general info and switches on Lojack. We finish the paperwork and my girlfriend and I go home.
At that point I had a strange mix of emotions swimming around my head. On the one side, I was proud I owned something so desirable that someone would risk themselves to steal it. On the other, I was so pissed I wanted to murder the cocksucker motherfucker who touched what I'd worked so hard to get.
My phone suddenly and unexpectedly rung as I arrived back at my apartment. It was the police department. My bike had been found in Montebello. 30 minutes had passed since the clerk had turned my Lojack on.
They gave me a number and told me to call in the morning. They had no information on the condition of the bike or whether a suspect had been apprehended.
So I called in the morning. The dispatcher said my bike had been impounded and that I needed to come to the station in Montebello to get release paperwork filed and then I could go to pay my impound fees and see my bike.
"Impound fees...? Why are there impound fees? Someone stole my bike," I said, incredulous at the idea that I was being asked to pay to get my property back.
I got to Montebello, filed the paperwork, was told there were no leads on possible suspects and given a very nicely printed map with directions to the impound yard. There was a large stack of these maps.
My girlfriend, who had been very supportive during this whole ordeal, had driven us to Montebello at my request. It was my hope that the bike would be in some sort of riding condition as any towing would add to the expense of getting my own property back.
We arrived at the impound yard and were welcomed by a huge sign that read: "Official Police Impound." I was astonished to say the least. We walked in and were brusquely dealt with. Even after I had proven that the bike was mine, they were still rude, denying access to my girlfriend, forcing her to stay outside the yard as I followed the assholes to where they had my bike.
The bike was much cleaner than I had hoped when I finally saw it. They had taken the sweatband I had adorned the front brake reservoir with, and had broken the steering lock and cut the ignition wires. They'd hotwired the bike and had brought wire nuts to secure the connection. Whoever stole my bike knew what they were doing and had been casing my garage.
The dicks who had shown me to my bike told me I was lucky to get my bike back.
"It's not luck... I have Lojack." They were astonished by this. They'd never heard of Lojack for bikes. They then proceeded to try to give me as many worthless pieces of advice as they possibly could. In the end, I just hoped they'd tell all their potential thieving friends and relatives that stealing bikes aint so easy.
I paid the exorbitant $240 impound fee, rewired the bike and road it back to my side of town and brought it to a local shop. The insurance adjuster is going to take a look at it there as insurance companies don't know what to do about bikes. I hope they cover the impound and cover the repairs, but I'm still not going to get off light. I have a $500 deductible.
The lessons for me here are: 1. I need better security for my bike. 2. I should up my premium to prevent going broke every time some bitch-ass fuck-tard decides they want to take a joyride on my hard earned piece of property.
We arrive at our apartment complex and drive into the small underground communal parking garage. We were chattering away at each other about work, etc. when suddenly I notice that my R1 isn't where I left it. In fact, it is nowhere to be found whatsoever.
"Dude, where's your bike," my roommate says.
"I have no fucking idea... God damn it!"
I parked the cage and jumped out, and ran up to our apartment to ask my roommate's girlfriend (who also lives with us) when the last time she saw my bike was.
"It's not in the shop?" she asked bewildered.
I call the police. I tell them to turn on my Lojack immediately. They tell me they can't over the phone, I have to come down to the station.
So I grab my girlfriend, who has just arrived, and we speed down to the station. The cop on duty takes my information and calls a clerk to help finish up the paperwork. She takes my general info and switches on Lojack. We finish the paperwork and my girlfriend and I go home.
At that point I had a strange mix of emotions swimming around my head. On the one side, I was proud I owned something so desirable that someone would risk themselves to steal it. On the other, I was so pissed I wanted to murder the cocksucker motherfucker who touched what I'd worked so hard to get.
My phone suddenly and unexpectedly rung as I arrived back at my apartment. It was the police department. My bike had been found in Montebello. 30 minutes had passed since the clerk had turned my Lojack on.
They gave me a number and told me to call in the morning. They had no information on the condition of the bike or whether a suspect had been apprehended.
So I called in the morning. The dispatcher said my bike had been impounded and that I needed to come to the station in Montebello to get release paperwork filed and then I could go to pay my impound fees and see my bike.
"Impound fees...? Why are there impound fees? Someone stole my bike," I said, incredulous at the idea that I was being asked to pay to get my property back.
I got to Montebello, filed the paperwork, was told there were no leads on possible suspects and given a very nicely printed map with directions to the impound yard. There was a large stack of these maps.
My girlfriend, who had been very supportive during this whole ordeal, had driven us to Montebello at my request. It was my hope that the bike would be in some sort of riding condition as any towing would add to the expense of getting my own property back.
We arrived at the impound yard and were welcomed by a huge sign that read: "Official Police Impound." I was astonished to say the least. We walked in and were brusquely dealt with. Even after I had proven that the bike was mine, they were still rude, denying access to my girlfriend, forcing her to stay outside the yard as I followed the assholes to where they had my bike.
The bike was much cleaner than I had hoped when I finally saw it. They had taken the sweatband I had adorned the front brake reservoir with, and had broken the steering lock and cut the ignition wires. They'd hotwired the bike and had brought wire nuts to secure the connection. Whoever stole my bike knew what they were doing and had been casing my garage.
The dicks who had shown me to my bike told me I was lucky to get my bike back.
"It's not luck... I have Lojack." They were astonished by this. They'd never heard of Lojack for bikes. They then proceeded to try to give me as many worthless pieces of advice as they possibly could. In the end, I just hoped they'd tell all their potential thieving friends and relatives that stealing bikes aint so easy.
I paid the exorbitant $240 impound fee, rewired the bike and road it back to my side of town and brought it to a local shop. The insurance adjuster is going to take a look at it there as insurance companies don't know what to do about bikes. I hope they cover the impound and cover the repairs, but I'm still not going to get off light. I have a $500 deductible.
The lessons for me here are: 1. I need better security for my bike. 2. I should up my premium to prevent going broke every time some bitch-ass fuck-tard decides they want to take a joyride on my hard earned piece of property.