My Custom Motorcycle Nightmare

What was supposed to be a custom motorcycle turned into a two-year nightmare. Allow me to gush my woes on you.

Three years ago I bought my very first motorcycle and oh- what a liberating feeling that gave me. For the first time in my life, I was independent. I had my own apartment without needing a roommate. I was financially stable and without any help from family I was able to buy this:

My 250 Honda Rebel. She wasn't the prettiest, previously used, but she was all mine. For those motorcycle enthusiast out there, you know the freeing feeling you get when driving on the highway zooming in and out of traffic and cruising down the winding hills with a pose of your friends with nothing holding you down but gravity.

It's exciting, thrilling, adventurous even. I loved every moment I got to ride. 

(Above is me hanging out on the set of Sons of Anarchy. I got to park next to some awesome bikes.)

Then one day, a friend asked for my help. I agreed to let him and his dog live on my pull-out couch for three months rent free until he could get back on his feet. (We'll call him "Turd-Face" for reference purposes.) 

Turd-Face was a mechanic since he was 16 years old. A builder of amazing machines and he just so happened loved the year and make of my tiny motorcycle. 

Once he was back on his feet, he started his own garage with a mutual friend and asked if he could repay my kindness by letting him trick-out my motorcycle for free. 

I agreed.

That was my first mistake. I foolishly believed that because he was a friend he wouldn't screw me over. I didn't think about getting a contract and let him haul my bike off to the California desert where his base of operations was. 

I was guaranteed to get my bike back in less than two weeks.

I was lied to.

Eight months pass and I'm receiving messages from Turd-face's partner telling me that they've hit some hard times, and it would be an extra delay in finishing my bike. I was understanding and patiently waited for another update. I never got one.

During this time I'm following their profile updates on Facebook and seeing that they were finishing other people's vehicles and motorcycles in a matter of weeks for "Wasteland Weekend." (A Mad Max themed burning man event  in the dessert)

I'm pretty ticked off that I've been pushed aside. I tried to Call Turd-Face, I messaged him, texted him, emailed him, left voicemails, offered to pay him money to finish my motorcycle- all with no response. I didn't go to the police because I didn't want to think that a friend would screw me like this and I was still excited about the idea of him making my bike look amazing. He was also an illegal alien without papers and I didn't want to chance him getting deported over a little miscommunication.

I kept hoping he would call me with good news.

He never did.

A year later, his partner lets me know that Turd-Face and he had a falling out, that Turd-face packed up his things (and my bike) and left. It turns out he's been burning bridges with all his buddies at the Wasteland build crew and was MIA. 

Another year passed, and I finally tracked him down. I went to the police and they told me because I "gave" him my bike that I had to write him a 10-day notice letter explaining to him that if I didn't receive my bike in operational order as I had first given him within the ten days of him receiving the letter that I would press charges. 

The day he received the letter I get a facebook message. That prick. Two years of him ignoring me and he finally responds to a letter. To sum things up, he promised to have the bike to me within the 10-day period.

Nope. He never showed, and he started ignoring me again.

His girlfriend even called me asking if we could talk "woman to woman" about the whole thing. I filed with the police and two months later I get a call from the officer telling me he never filed a report and advised me to call the girlfriend myself and work around HER schedule to get my bike back. The cop actually said to me, and I quote, "I need to get this case off my desk and worry about more important things."

This was a terrible blow. I turned to the authorities for justice, and he sided with the thieves. 

I called the woman. She gave me a date she could drop off my bike and told me it wouldn't be in operational order. The day came, and she was 6 hours late. This is what she gave me:

It still makes me want to cry. Everything has been gutted, nothing works. It doesn't even have an ignition! She texted me hours later explaining to me that she "forgot" to give me a box of my missing parts. I told her to mail it to me. She replied she would send me a bill so that I could pay for its shipping. 

WTF.

It doesn't matter. She said that she would text me the cost and then I never heard from her again. I went to a real garage and asked what it would cost to fix my bike. He quoted over $5,000. 

It feels like someone destroyed my freedom and pissed all over me. Now I'm stuck with a shell and bad memories and a very expensive life-lesson.