Memorial Day weekend and I requested four days off, including half of a day the Thursday before, to make an eleven day mini vacation and I have got places to go and people to see. I make arrangements with one of my Veteran brother’s heading south to join him for a few hours, we hash out the little details and, besides the end destination, I have no real path planned out. The week of the trip is here and Monday morning I wake up, debate with the weather as to its cooperation that day and if I should ride. Open toed shoes win out and I decide to drive to work instead.
Walking out of my apartment I startle a bird in a bush next to the stairs by my apartment but this is no ordinary bird, it is a sky blue parakeet. Someone has lost their pet. I make an attempt to catch it so that I can find its owner after work but he isn’t very willing to allow me to assist him and is soon flying off to be free. I thought to myself, this is going to be an interesting day and I was right.
I get into my truck which faces my carport where I park my bike and I just look. Something isn’t right. Where’s my bike. I get out of my truck and just stare. My first thought is, “You silly woman, where did you park her?” Did one of my brothers decide to pull a prank on me? No, they couldn’t, I locked the fork up, the most they could do was to push it in a circle.
Stolen. She was stolen.
I call 911 and suddenly I am in full panic attack mode. I manage to let the 911 operator know that my 2013 Harley Davidson Streetglide motorcycle was stolen but I am having difficulty with getting her more information. I just cannot think. I cannot process what is happening. This poor woman on the other end offers to send an ambulance to my location but I decline, I can control this, I have to. I hear someone talking to her and she asks me, “was your bike yellow?” OMG! YES! “Is she in one piece?” “Yes, Ma’am, we have recovered her.”
The whole day at work, everyone is talking about it. I Facebook what’s happened and people are shocked and happy that she was recovered so quickly. I finally get a call from the special investigator assigned to my case and I just need to know a few things. Is she ride able? He is unsure but he thinks she is in good shape. Is the cow still with her? He is now confused. I explain the significance of Crazy Cow and he says that he will look for the cow and send pictures as soon as he can. A few hours later, I have pictures of my baby in the back of a U-Haul truck and the cow is still strapped on.
My Vet brother, Skip, takes me to get her during my lunch on Tuesday. She just needs a new main fuse and the side cover is missing but other than that, she is in good shape. She is in good hands again and yet she feels off, almost like this inanimate object knows that she has been violated. I know how that sounds but I also know how it felt to be on her after she was stolen.
I am a basket of nerves by the time I ride her back to work and I even lock her up, which is funny because there is more security at my job than at the airport. On my way home I stop at Menards for 10 feet of the thickest chain and a lock but I put the chain back when I find a padlock with an alarm on it and this sucker is LOUD! I just have two nights to manage to live through before I am off on my vacation. I will feel safer knowing that I will be away from these people that want to take my bike.
I sleep with my window locked open ajar, my weapon ready, the bike with her new accessory attached and my prayers ascending to heaven that she will be there when I wake up.
What a way to start the 2015 riding season.
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