Drunken Fuckwit Mangles Bikes

Last weekend the missus and I headed to Monterey for a relaxing weekend on the Pacific coast. We took our bikes and locked them to the railing between our motel room and the car park. We figured nobody would steal our bikes, they’re not exactly top models. However, when we got home on Saturday evening, after snapping the sunset, a pleasant dinner and a couple of drinks, our bikes had disappeared. Just as the idea of our bikes being stolen was sinking in, we realised the railing was gone too, and the smell of diesel was hanging in the air. Then we found our bikes.

What process could have transformed our two bikes into six pieces of twisted scrap? Well, it turns out that some drunken fuckwit (and there really is no better term) in a pickup truck messed up his reversing, squashed our bikes, removed the railing, almost rolled his truck into the hotel and ruptured his fuel tank. By the time we got back the guy had been arrested for driving under the influence, a tow truck had removed the pickup, and a fire crew had been called and prevented the truck from catching fire.

The only salvageable part of my bike is the pedals, and they’re cheap plastic things anyway. Courtney’s bike is not so utterly destroyed as mine. We managed to save the pedals and the saddle from Courtney’s

Luckily, there is a happy ending to the story. The fucktard’s insurance company paid up enough for us to replace our dead bikes with decent used ones.