Motorcycle Theft
Many years ago, I used to ride a Ducati 695 - an elegant tool from a more civilized age. Sadly, after an unfortunate meeting with an Uber driver in a Toyota Prius the vehicle had to be retired[1]. But by the time of that incident, it was already a Mad Max / Borderlands looking vehicle. And the reason for that was that it was stolen.
How
I didn't have a garage back in those days, so I used to use the street to park. Most people who park on the street use a disc lock, which goes on your brake disc and stops the wheel from turning. Now the thing about this bike is that it's old, at the time of the theft it was already some 10 years old. The original guy who kept it treated it like it was gold so it was in great shape, but it was still an old bike.
To be honest, I should have known better than to keep it on the street because someone ran into it while it was parked in the street and destroyed its front wheel. Perhaps getting it fixed attracted some interest: one could imagine that the shiny new front brake disc would make the bike look absolutely prime. In any case, I had the bike sitting outside without a disc lock. I did all the maintenance I needed out on the street and there wasn't any garage space nearby for me to use anyway. This was the only way to live.
So what happened is that one day, in the middle of the night, a guy showed up and wheeled the bike away down the hill and then probably off onto the back of a truck or into a van.
What Next
When I came out the next day I couldn't believe my eyes. There was a clear blank empty spot where my bike should be. I walked up and down and looked around hoping that someone had only knocked it over, and then tried replaying the last night's events over again to see if I'd perhaps parked it elsewhere, but no: there was no bike and there was no denying that's where I parked my bike. I was hopping mad. But also it was unlikely to have just happened.
I called the police, reported it, and resorted to my bicycle (which fit in my apartment) and Ubers for when I needed to go far. To make it worse, I was to fly to Hawai'i the next day with my friends Demi and Julie where we'd spend the next two weeks or so. That trip was fun, but tainted by the knowledge that some guy somewhere had figured out how to use my bike.
That day, any time I saw a black motorcycle I squinted to see if it was mine. It never was. And I would only find out why later.
Recovery
About a month later, I was home when I got a call from the police. They'd found my bike and it was pretty much in shape. I just had to show up within the next 24 hours and they'd let me have it back. It turns out they'd found it the very next day but couldn't find the VIN and therefore couldn't find who it belonged to. At the impound yard, they'd eventually found a way to get that off the motorcycle and that's when they'd called me.
Courthouse
The place you go to get your bike back from the impound lot is the Bryant St. Courthouse. Those guys give you a letter that lets you have your bike back, you take that to the lot and then all is well. The thing with stolen vehicles is that you don't really get them back for free. Once the police call you, you have about an hour to respond to come pick it up. If you don't pick it up in that time, it'll be towed and you have to pay the tow fee and the lot storage fee and all that all of which sum up to an astronomical amount. Since I hadn't picked up the motorcycle in a month, the storage fees were more than the total value of the bike.
But in this case, they hadn't really called me when they foud the bike originally. This meant I wasn't actually on the hook for anything, and they gave me a piece of paper that released it to me. Hurray!
Impound Lot
The impound lot for the bike was on 7th St, near the freeway on and off ramps. It's a miserable place, mostly filled with people whose cars have been towed for whatever reason[2], so in that gloom I was a bright light: I was going to get my rightful motorcycle back. Sadly for me, I soon discovered that anything towed to this lot only spends a short time there. The police had sent it there, and eventually told me that's where they'd sent it, but they don't really keep track of where it goes.
Fortunately, this lot does keep track of where they send things. So they sent me along to the lot in one of the numerous nameless cities South of San Francisco, South City / San Bruno / whatever.
Impound Lot 2 : Electric Boogaloo
Now, by this time I was getting a bit antsy, but once I get going I find it easy to keep going so off I went in an Uber to this South of SF city. The policeman who recovered the bike had said it looked in typical working order and so I should be able to ride it out.
When I got to this new lot, I told them I was just going to ride it out. But when I walked up to my bike, I realized that was it. This bike was not going to be ridden out unless I somehow attached a pedaling apparatus to it. This is because the ignition was drilled through, the fuel tank was empty and a pallid blue-grey, and there was no way to power the bike on. It's not the policeman's fault. He might not ride bikes.
All right, well that's fine. I'll just wheel it out, call a tow, and get it fixed. Well, not so fast! When an abandoned vehicle is towed, you can't just wheel it out. It has to be in working condition to leave the lot or you need to tow it. It was 4 PM. The lot closed at 5 PM. If I missed the window, I'd have to start paying storage fees that are hundreds of dollars. Well that's a bit crazy, I only just got the call that day!
Anyway, I called my tow guy and out he comes with his truck, takes the bike and sends her to the shop. All is well. We beat the clock, hurray! But why would someone do that to this bike?
What The Thief Must Have Done
Ducatis come from the factory with an engine immobilizer. They're awful bikes to steal if you want to get a motorcycle to ride because you can't start them without an original key or a red reprogram keycard, both of which only the owner has. This makes the stolen bike only useful for parts and the like.
But the thief didn't know that. He took the bike, then couldn't start it because he thought something was up with the ignition so he drilled through that key hole, then he thought it was because there was no gas so he drilled that key hole, and at some point he must have thought he was some hot shot who knew how to fix the starter button so he messed with that too.
And before he got going on all this, he decided to paint the entire bike in ugly grey-blue house wall paint. You could still see the bad paint strokes! It was an atrocious job.
Unable to get the bike started after all this, he must have given up and abandoned it. Nottata persa e figlia fìmmina[3].
Repair
In the end, Desmoto Sport at 1310 17th St, San Francisco, CA 94107 managed to do a fine job and restored the bike to fully working order. I kept the ugly painted tank, though I think I should really have accepted their offer for a rescue off a different destroyed Ducati. I did manage to get some of the paint off the frame using some paint thinner and some elbow grease, but the bike wasn't ever going to look like it did originally.
Notes
- ↑ Which wasn't strictly a bad thing. It might have catalyzed Julie and my getting married, and everything that follows, like Astra.
- ↑ On another day, I would have to go in there to get my car back as well.
- ↑ "A whole night spent and it's a girl". The writer Andrea Camilleri has a character say this Sicilian saying in his Inspector Montalbano series. It's supposed to mean a situation where you put in a lot of work but in the end you get something disappointing. The idea is you spend an entire night in labour (or watching your wife in labour, perhaps) and then you don't get the boy child you want. Emblematic of the place and time, I suppose. I have a baby girl and I cannot imagine a single moment more joyful than when I held her for the first time.
