The Day My Yamaha Maxim 650 Was Stolen — and How I Found It Weeks Later
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In 2006, I was visiting my parents in Chilliwack, BC, when my daughter called and said something no rider ever wants to hear:
“Dad… I don’t think your motorcycle was in its parking spot this morning.”
That moment kicked off an unexpected adventure — one that ended a few weeks later with me getting my bike back, but not in the condition I left it. And of course, insurance didn’t cover a thing.
The bike they stole was my 1982 Yamaha Maxim 650.
Original paint. Just over 18,000 km. Nearly ready for collector plates. The only flaw was a bit of rust on the tail pipe — something I was already planning to fix with new stock pipes.
It was in perfect condition, and I loved that bike.
And yes… maybe if I’d installed an alarm back then, I wouldn’t be writing this story.
Discovering the Motorcycle Was Actually Gone
Confirming the theft took time. My daughter was on an eight‑hour shift, and I had a ferry ride back to Nanaimo before I could check myself.
When I finally got home, she was right — the bike was gone.
- The condo security cameras? Not working.
- The police? Didn’t come out. Didn’t care.
- ICBC? Happy to take my money, not happy to cover the loss.
Every call ended with the same message: “Sorry for your loss, but we’re not doing anything.”
Weeks Later, I’d Given Up — Until a Random Stoplight Changed Everything
A few weeks passed, and I accepted that the bike was gone for good.
Then one morning, my wife and I were driving from Nanaimo to Duncan, BC for work. At a stoplight beside a strip mall, I glanced over and saw a Yamaha Maxim 650 parked outside.
I turned to Eileen and said, “Let’s go see if that’s my bike.”
We pulled in. I walked past the motorcycle casually, took a closer look… and instantly knew.
The terrible paint job they did repainting the bike didn’t fool me.
The rust on the tail pipes was the giveaway.
And the only business open in that strip mall?
Smitty’s Restaurant — where a dozen cops were having breakfast.
Confronting the Police at Smitty’s
I walked inside, asked the hostess where the officers were sitting, and headed straight to their table.
I stood at the end and said:
“See that motorcycle out there? That bike was reported stolen.”
One officer looked at me and asked, “How do you know that?”
I replied:
“Because it’s my motorcycle — the one I reported stolen the other day.”
That got their attention. Several officers got up and followed me outside.
Proving the Motorcycle Was Mine
At the bike, the officer asked how I could be sure it was mine. I pointed out the rusted pipes, then told him:
“If they didn’t change the ignition, I have the key.”
They had bypassed the ignition, but the original lock was still there.
My key turned it immediately.
A quick check of the serial number confirmed it: the motorcycle was mine.
I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong.
ICBC Complicates Everything (Of Course)
A few days later, ICBC called and questioned whether the bike was actually mine. They wanted to inspect it.
After the inspection, they told me the frame had been modified and the bike now had two serial numbers — mine, and one from a Honda Shadow.
How that wasn’t instantly obvious, I’ll never know.
So once again, I sat without a motorcycle while they “determined” ownership.
Eventually, the call came:
Come pick up your bike.
All the serial numbers except one were mine. The thieves had cut out a single bar and welded in one from another bike.
What I Learned — and What I Use Now
Today, I use an alarmed disc lock.
I don’t know if it’s ever stopped anyone from stealing my motorcycle, but it definitely helps me sleep better at night.
If you ride, learn from my story:
Protect your bike. Thieves don’t care how much it means to you.
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