Cycle News is a weekly magazine that covers all aspects of motorcycling including Supercross, Motocross and MotoGP as well as new motorcycles
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VOL. 53 ISSUE 19 MAY 16, 2016 P143 Simon) especially hard because once you share a beer and chat about motorcycles as mates, you have a bond together. Any low-ball act like turning around and stealing the other person's bike should be met with the ap- propriate castration device, one suitably rusty and blunt. My experience with the bike thief stems back to when I was so broke I didn't have a pot to piss in. At 24 I'd decided to go back to school full time and was making do on a couple hundred bucks a week when everyone around me was earning much more than that. My mode of transport back then was a 2002 Honda XR400— that beautiful, red beast of a dirt bike you couldn't kill with a hammer. Reliable, strong, good looking, cheap. It was everything I needed. That year of 2007 coincided with a strange point in my life. I'd broken up with my long-term girlfriend, moved into a crazy share house and was trying to figure out my lot in life. At the same time, my roommate Han- nah's uncle was doing the same. Andrew had recently come out of the closet after 16 years of mar- riage and three children (when I say come out of the closet, what he did was aim the proverbial ballistic missile at it and blow it to smithereens). To celebrate, Andrew decided to take part in Sydney's biggest party—the annual Gay and Les- bian Mardi Gras—so Hannah, my- self, and our whole posse were off to support him as he began to relish his new life. Knowing full well we'd be get- ting wasted drunk that night, we started walking to the train station when I saw a punk kid on what looked to be my BMX bike I used to occasionally ride to college. Sure enough, it was my bike, so I sprinted over to him, cornered the little bugger and asked his just what the hell he was doing with my bike. He told me some older guys gave it to him, so I politely informed him it was not theirs to give away and swiftly booted him off it. Walking back to the garage we shared with several other resi- dents, I saw my car in its usual spot. I normally parked my XR in front of the car to give it a bit of cover, securing it with a big ass chain and padlock that was ap- parently made to stop motorcycle thieves. Dropping the BMX back to the garage, the bright red XR was nowhere to be seen, nor was the chain and lock. Strangely enough, I didn't initially panic. I must have left it at a friend's place. Or school. Or the pub. It wasn't stolen, I kept telling myself. I just had to remember where I left it. After two agonizing minutes of denial, it hit home. Some shit stain had stolen my motorcycle. I've lost money, jobs, friends and girlfriends, all of which have caused me varying levels of distress, but I've never, ever felt such fury the day I was supposed to be celebrating a man's new life. That rip-off of my ride left me without a motorcycle for the next 12 months—the longest break I'd had from riding since I was four- years-old—simply because I didn't have the funds to get a new one. The sad twist in this tale is that XR was a replacement for our family's 1998 XR400, another ma- chine removed from our posses- sion when two loads that should have been flushed ransacked my parent's farm in 2003. Anyone that's suffered a break- and-enter knows the feeling of violation that courses through your veins. Someone's invaded your space, dug through your life and left you feeling less secure in the very place that should bring you peace. Stealing a motorcycle brings that exact same feeling to the rightful owner. So, you can see why I have no real problem with what James May said. If you steal motorcycles for a laugh, for your own use, or are part of the rebirthing ring that's the bane of the international motorcycle community, you de- serve the worst punishment the universe can dish your way. There are 7.3 billion humans in the world, meaning there's plenty of good people who will take your place. CN