I was leaving the checkout when a young woman came up to me, presumably by identifying my riding gear, and asked, “Is the red motorcycle out there yours?”

My immediate thought was, this can’t be good.  “Yes.”

“I just backed into it.”

Definitely not good.

I followed her out into the parking lot and there was my GoldWing, laying on her starboard side, with the back corner of the port saddlebag smashed. The marks on the ground where the crash guards had dug into the pavement, told that the bike had been pushed about half a foot on the ground once it was over.

To say that I was pissed off is an understatement.  How can anyone miss an eight foot long, bright red motorcycle? I went to the starboard side, checked to make sure the kickstand was in the down position and picked the bike up by the handlebar and passenger hand hold.

After looking it over, I was estimating at least a $1000 repair bill, and the damage was slight. I asked the gal if she had called the police and she said she didn’t think they needed to be called. I informed her that if the damage was over $300, the police had to be on the scene. This might not have been the complete truth, as I don’t know the specifics of Utah law on this, but this is the general limit for most states.

She again insisted that the police did not need to be contacted and I informed her that she could call, or I would.  She called them and in the process called a male friend of hers, who arrived a few minutes before the police arrived.

The woman I was upset with, but I had not raised my voice. I didn’t lecture her and I saw no need to even talk to her until the police were on the scene.  What would be the point?

She had other plans, however, and proceeded to remark on how little damage there was and again didn’t see why the police had to be involved.

I replied by giving her a short story on how I had replaced the starboard saddlebag cover, which was $450 for the part alone, and was about to go into all of the damage I saw on the bike, when her male friend suddenly shouted at me, “You don’t talk to her! You have no reason to talk to her!”

I had kept my cool up to this point, but my mind was seething now. I wanted to tell this worthless little fucking asshole that no one here had named him god and that he had absolutely no authority over me, telling me who I could or could not talk to. I wanted to tell him how little I thought of his opinion and that I was only responding to her instigation of a conversation, and that if that he was so fucking worried about her talking to me, he should advise her to shut the hell up…

Instead, I said nothing. What would be the point?  His tiny little brain wouldn’t have understood the situation anyway.

No, I had only to wait for the police to arrive.

Her friend left after a few minutes, saying, “I hope it works out for you” as he walked past.

I replied back calmly, with a slight menace to the tone, “It will.”

A few minutes of silence later, a squad car pulled into the lot.  He parked next to me and the woman walked over. The officer asked me what had happened, and I told him the truth, “This lady came to tell me that she backed into my motorcycle, so I went outside and found the bike on it’s side.  I don’t know more than that, because I didn’t see it happen.”

The woman was instantly pissed and snarled, “Give me some credit.”

I was about to start into a lecture, but figured it wouldn’t be worth it.  How could I explain to someone who is already upset that I can’t give conjecture to the officer?  I could only tell him the facts and the facts were that I didn’t know what happened, other than she had admitted to running into my motorcycle.

The officer took her aside and asked her what had happened and though I couldn’t hear the conversation, I read her lips enough to know she admitted to hitting the bike and knocking it over.  She claimed that she didn’t see it, which seems obvious to me.  While she confessed to her transgression, I started to ponder what kind of living hell she would be in at this moment, if it had been a pedestrian she had backed over instead my motorcycle. Machines can be fixed, or even replaced if they are damaged beyond reasonable repair – but people can’t be put back together all that easily.  I wonder if she had thought about this at all?

Because it wasn’t just a motorcycle she hit.  It was a big red warning sign – an 850 pound wake-up call that she needed to slow down and use far more care when wealding the most dangerous weapon she owns: her car.

The officer went back to his vehicle, plugged the registration and insurance information for both of us into his report and printed off a copy for each of us.  This is what I wanted.  This is what I had been waiting for.  I now had a police officer’s testimony that she had admitted to hitting my motorcycle.  This is what was needed to keep the fight with her insurance company to a minimum.  Again, whether she understood this or not is unknown, but I would guess she hadn’t a clue. She seemed nice enough, having come in and informed me of the accident, rather than driving off – but on the other hand she could have been forced to do so, because the parking lot was very busy and there were most likely a half dozen witnesses at the time who would have pointed the finger at her.

Hit and run, even just property damage, is a very bad move.

So, whether it was her decent nature or self-preservation, I don’t know to this day.

When I got home I called my insurance company just to let them know what was going on.  I then called her company and filed a claim. The usual phone tag game was played and the bike went into the shop for appraisal.  The accident was on the fifth of November and I didn’t get the bike back until the 27th.

My estimate was damn close.  It was about $1200 to fix, though the shop missed damage on both brake lights on the port side, which I’m now having to send photos of, so that they can file this with her insurance as well.  My guess is I’ll have to eat it, because they screwed up the first time.  I won’t be pleased if this is so.

The shop was unable to find the exact replacement highway pegs, Mick-O-Pegs.  They’re still in business, so I don’t know how they missed it.  They replaced them with Küryakyn highway pegs, which I don’t find as functional, but honesty do find to be more comfortable and better looking. In the end, I’m not upset with the change.

One thing I do regret, which might have sped things up with her insurance as well, is that I didn’t demand a rental car.  I was out for three weeks without my primary transportation.  I won’t make that mistake again.

As for the woman who hit my bike, I have no harsh feelings.  I was pissed at the situation, not at her. I doubt she would have understood that at the time.

No, the only anger I have toward a person, is toward her little shit of a friend, who thinks that he has the authority to tell me what to do. I needed to keep things peaceful, so that the law would be on my side when it arrived, otherwise I would have stopped my conversation with her as requested and leveled it in a very close and uncomfortable fashion at him.