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Marketplace, my things, the police and my money

marketplace

Marketplace, my things, the police and my money

Marktplaats had the stuff I had been looking for for ages. A few emails and a phone call seemed to make it clear that the excursion to the Amsterdam outskirts could be worthwhile. There was no need to hire a trailer. A friend of mine has an American pickup.

A friend's pick up

That giant has a diesel engine of about seven liters. The lid of the trunk reads: “Fuck Fuel Economy”. The ride through dusk to Amsterdam went smoothly. During the Randstad rush hour, fellow road users take more into account two-meter-high pick-ups than with motorcycles.


Plants

Never knew that around Amsterdam there were still such rural neighborhoods with such barns. Fortunately the pick-up had a battery of floodlights on its roof. So we dragged our own sunrise. The TomTom did the rest and we found a messy plot with some barns and sheds on it. We walked over to an adult specimen and opened a door with good luck. There was a lock behind that door. When we went through the second door, we stood, with pinched eyes, in a brightly lit horticulture. There were only plants, no motorcycle gear sellers.

The other trade

We went outside, into the fresh air, and found another, considerably less exuberantly lit barn. There were motorcycles there. Harleys. From the corner of the eye we saw one of which the ignition lock was very original modified. It started to tickle a bit between the shoulder blades, but the man who met us turned out to be a friendly specimen, not a Heavy Boy. It was fun, our host played a large tapered cigarette and had no objection to us being more civilian. The things he had for sale seemed to have a considerably better background than the machine with the forced ignition. We came to business pleasantly and got a beer on the good outcome.

It was like a movie

Just before the first sip, the peace was over. There was a lot of noise outside and also in our shed it suddenly became very busy. All police with dogs and shouting. Outside, a helicopter hung flapping over the plot. Including all directions on waving spotlight. And so you end up in a cell late on a Friday night. After an hour the cell opened and we were interrogated - just like we all know from police series. I have to say: on TV I have seen that happen more impressive. My interrogation was just a sort of conversation. It appears that the police were not entirely objective. Because we had to explain very much why we were there so late with a V8 4WD with an inflammatory text on the cover.

The citizen pays

In the end, of course, everything ended with a hiss. But the towing costs of the pick-up had to be paid irrevocably. And that while we had not asked for it to be carried away. All in all, cars are pretty handy things, but as a motorcyclist you often have a hassle with it. And the things that the journey actually started for? They remained seized. Just like the money I had given to the friendly seller. Notes were made about this in the official report. I've just written off the stuff. And whether the Government gives me my money back? Has the government ever done that?

And buy on Marktplaats? Well sometimes at Mediamarkt or Aliexpress something can go wrong

                                                        Cannabis. That is cannot what we came for

                                               The police came for the cannabis

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