How My Homeowners Association Tried to Drive Me Out Over a Harley—and Lost

I never dreamed a single-vehicle dispute would cost me thousands of dollars and nearly cost me my home. But that’s exactly what happened after the homeowners association in my neighborhood decided my Harley-Davidson was a threat to their “high-end image.”

My name is Jim Garrett. For thirty-seven years I paid my mortgage on time, maintained my yard, and contributed to our little corner of Oakwood Estates. I raised three kids in that house; my late wife, Martha, and I filled it with laughter and love. Then, three months after Martha passed, I dusted off my Harley and started taking early-morning rides again—just me, my memories, and the open road. That simple pleasure set off a chain of events I could never have predicted.

The First Notice
It began with a letter pinned to my front door one morning. The homeowners association president, Bradley Morrison—a man barely half my age—had signed it personally. The notice used fancy legal language to claim that my parked motorcycle “diminished surrounding property values” and violated the community’s aesthetic rules.

Violation: Vehicle parked in driveway, visible from street
Fine: $500 per day until vehicle is removed

I stared at the sheet in disbelief. My driveway. My Harley. My home. How could this simple piece of machinery become evidence that I no longer “fit in”?

I called the number at the bottom of the letter and reached Bradley within minutes.

“Mr. Garrett,” he said in a tone that mixed smugness with faux concern, “vehicles that appeal to a criminal element are not welcome in Oakwood Estates.”

I took a deep breath. “Bradley, I’ve lived here since 1987. I never had a complaint. This is my wife’s bike—my late wife’s. It’s been parked there for years without issue.”

He clicked his pen. “This is about public image now. The board decided that a motorcycle in plain view suggests lawlessness. I suggest you find off-site storage or consider a more… appropriate vehicle for a man of your stature.” Then he hung up.

Warming Up Too Early
The very next week, I got a second fine. Starting my Harley at 6:00 a.m. before a dawn ride was “excessive noise during prohibited hours.” That’s a $200 violation, the notice said. So I shifted my ride time to 7:00 a.m.

A week after that, a third notice arrived: “Oil stains on driveway.” I stared at the spotless concrete. I hadn’t spilled a drop of oil in decades. I took photos to prove it and mailed them back along with a polite letter—but the reply said the evidence wasn’t acceptable. I had to pay a $150 fine or face a hearing.

Then came the next violation: “Intimidating appearance affecting children.” My daughter, Linda, read it over my shoulder and burst out laughing. “They’ve got to be kidding!” she said. But I didn’t see the humor. They were systematically building a case against me.

The Escalation
Bradley’s mission became painfully clear to me when we ran into each other at the neighborhood pool. He leaned over the lifeguard stand, binoculars in hand, and said, “Garrett, I see your bike’s still there. Another day, another $500, my friend.”

I felt a flash of anger. “You’re harassing me. I’m obeying all your rules—shifting my ride times, cleaning my driveway. You just want me out.”

He straightened up, batting away my claim. “Look, Jim, I’m just maintaining the standards I was elected to uphold.”

But it wasn’t about standards. It was about power: the power to pick on a lonely, grieving father who couldn’t afford legal fees. In two months, my fines totaled $2,500. Six weeks later, I was over $4,000 in the hole. My retirement income couldn’t cover that.

“They drive me to the poorhouse,” I told my son, Mike, on a tearful phone call. “They’re pushing me out.”

A Family Plea
My daughter Linda flew in one weekend to help. She got in her Honda Civic, parked it in the driveway, and left it there for an hour. Within minutes, a fine was slipped under her windshield wiper. “$200 for unauthorized vehicle type.” She brought the note to me with a smirk. “They’re ridiculous, Dad.”

She looked me in the eye. “Selling the bike might clear this, but the problem will be the next thing—your plants, your porch swing, anything. They just don’t like you.”

Her words stung, but she was right. The bike was just the wedge. Bradley and his HOA board had targeted me because I didn’t conform.

Finding Allies
Late one night, I confided in an old friend, Bill, over coffee. He said, “You need backup, Jim. If they think they can push you around, they will. Why don’t you talk to the other riders in the area? There are guys out there hiding their Harleys in storage just like you.”

At first, the idea seemed crazy. What neighborhood had an underground community of bikers? But Bill was persistent. He gave me a name: Patricia Chen, a quiet accountant on Oak Street rumored to own an ’07 Sportster.

I knocked on her door at sunset. Patricia peered through the window, surprised but sympathetic. She invited me in and admitted she’d been forced to rent off-site storage for her bike for months. “I’m sick of it,” she said. “They fine me for parking my Harley; I can’t even hang a cover over it. I’ll help you fight this.”

Building a Coalition
Word spread quietly. Soon I had a dozen neighbors confessing similar stories: a retired teacher on Maple Drive, a young doctor on Pine, an ex-cop on Elm. None were part of a club—just ordinary people who rode bikes and refused to hide.

We formed the Neighborhood Vehicle Appreciation Coalition (NVAC). Our goal: pass a petition to change the bylaws so homeowners could park personal vehicles—including motorcycles—in their driveways without petty fines.

Meanwhile, Linda had scoped out Bradley’s background and found he sat on the boards of two local developers that had scooped up properties in Oakwood after owners feared HOA action. Motive, meet evidence.

Turning the Tide
At the next HOA meeting, NVAC members showed up with well-documented grievances. We presented photos of our clean driveways, letters from repair shops stating no oil leaks, signed statements from neighbors who supported us. Several members who’d never spoken up before courageously shared how they avoided buying bikes just to fit in.

Finally, I stood to speak. “I served two tours in Vietnam,” I said, voice steady. “I worked forty years as a union electrician. I raised my family here. My Harley isn’t a symbol of crime—it’s a symbol of freedom and independence. And now you’re using fines to force me out so your developer friends can buy my home cheap. I refuse to be bullied.”

The room went silent. Bradley’s smug expression dropped. He groped for a reply but only managed, “Standards must be upheld.”

I held up his own bylaws. “Your so-called standards conflict with federal law. The Fair Housing Act forbids discrimination based on familial status and personal lifestyle. Motorcycles are legal vehicles. You can’t selectively enforce rules to push out neighbors.”

The board members whispered among themselves. Bradley sputtered but couldn’t refute our legal citations.

Victory and Restoration
Within a week, the HOA board voted out Bradley and a couple of his closest allies. The new board voided all vehicle-related fines, refunded every dime—including my $4,500—and rewrote the rules to clearly allow personal vehicles in driveways.

I got a check in the mail for my fines. Patricia, Bill, Linda, Mike, and the others each received theirs too. When I cashed mine, I felt a measure of vindication but more relief that justice had prevailed.

A New Tradition
One crisp Saturday morning, I rolled my Harley out front with a grin. Patricia parked her Sportster next to me. Dr. Kim’s vintage Triumph was on the corner, and the retired teacher’s Goldwing shone in the sunlight. We formed a slow, proud convoy down our street, past houses now flying “Welcome, Neighbor” signs.

At Martha’s favorite overlook, we stopped. I removed my helmet and breathed in deep, cool air. The valley below seemed to glow. I whispered, “This one’s for you, Martha.”

We held a moment of silence, then erupted in laughter as Patricia popped her throttle, kicking off a gentle roar.

Now, every month we meet at my driveway before dawn. We take that familiar route through rolling hills and backroads, our diverse group of doctors, teachers, electricians, retirees, young professionals—all bound by a love of riding and by the knowledge that a true community stands together, not just for manicured lawns, but for freedom and respect.

Oakwood Estates is different now. Property values have actually gone up—not because we banished a 68-year-old biker, but because we embraced diversity and fought injustice.

Bradley Morrison moved out shortly after his removal; rumor has it he’s still upset that his plan backfired so spectacularly.

I kept my corner lot. My Harley stays parked in my driveway. And if anyone says it’s an “eyesore,” I invite them to join me for a ride. Because nothing destroys prejudice faster than the wind in your face and the open road ahead.

My fines were refunded. My home is mine again. And the neighborhood learned that you should never underestimate the power of a united community—especially one that rides together.