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The Car Pirates of Northern Door

With the tourist season now well underway in Door County, a whole array of things reappears in day-to-day life that, for almost eight months of the years, is largely absent. Traffic, of course, is the most noticeable change. Indeed, in mid-July, sitting seven cars back in a line waiting to turn left off Country Walk Lane onto Highway 42 in Sister Bay, even I find it difficult to remember the winter days when a bowling ball, launched from the top of the Sister Bay hill, with just the right amount of “English,” can roll all the way down to the marina without encountering a single moving car.

There are many other changes besides traffic, but I mention traffic because, during this past week cars – and particularly car alarms – have often come to occupy my thoughts.

Unlike many, I am thankful for the discordant cacophony created by one or two car alarms within the space of a block. The silence and solitude of Door County are legendary, so much so, that we often forget the need to be watchful in these dangerous times. And this complacency is, itself, dangerous.

Next to our homes, our cars (or trucks, or Suburban Utility Vehicles) are likely to be our most expensive investment. Thus, it is simply good sense to want to protect the investment we make in our cars. Yet, those of us who live here throughout the year, tend to be rather laissez-faire about protecting our vehicles from theft. In large part, this may be because many of us (including myself) don’t really own cars that are worth very much – at least insofar as the “chop shops” are concerned. But our geography plays a far greater role than a summer visitor might realize.

During anytime of the year, my car doors are almost always open – no matter where my car is parked on the peninsula. Not only is my vehicle unlocked, the key is usually dangling in the ignition. Now as I’ve already stated, my vehicles aren’t really worth very much but, for the sake of argument let’s say I’m in having coffee at Al Johnson’s one January morning and I stay for about an hour talking or reading. When I leave, I walk up the street to where I left my car at the bookstore only to find that someone has taken my car. Oh dear! What am I to do?

Well, I’ll tell you what I do: I call down to Sturgeon Bay and let the police know my car has been stolen. The police dispatcher notifies the patrol cars who take positions at the bridges and, when the car thief tries to depart the county – across one of the only three exits from the peninsula that exist – they arrest him/her and get my car back. Case closed.

Of course, this is the winter scenario. In the summer, the geography remains the same, but the situation changes slightly. You see, the summer, in addition to meaning the return of the tourist season, also means the return of…The Car Pirates.

The folk who live here, don’t talk about the Pirates much. Indeed, due to the quietness of the winters, our tendency is to forget they even exist. Thankfully, though, the tourists who return each year and activate their car alarms when they park their car to go to the ATM machine remind we absentminded locals.

For those who have truly forgotten about the Car Pirates, or are simply first time visitors and have yet to learn of these master criminals, let me explain. This covert band of thieves loots cars from throughout northern Door County. Though I’ve never heard it personally confirmed, I’ve been told they have even taken cars from Washington Island!

Though the majority of vehicles are taken at night, daring daytime thefts have been reported. The cars are stashed temporarily in remote locations – quarries are sometimes mentioned, or old logging roads…no one knows for sure. The only thing that is certain is that at some point, since the cars cannot be transported off the peninsula by land without being spotted at the aforementioned bridges, the vehicles are smuggled onto a ship or ships.

The final destination for these pilfered cars is unknown. Speculation over coffee during the winter months has focused on the possibility that theses cars find there way to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where they are parked, randomly, on lawns, in backyards, or on triple-wide driveways, never to be driven again (for reasons that are completely unfathomable to all non-Yuppers). But this is simply speculation and, as I said, no one knows for sure.

Though there is no recorded instance of a local’s car being stolen, I am still thankful for the tourists who faithfully activate their car alarms while they buy a newspaper from one of the machines in front of the Piggly Wiggly. Without their faithful memory of the danger posed by The Car Pirates, I (and other locals) might forget the danger.

For the time being, given the vehicles that I am driving, I am safe from The Car Pirates. I doubt even a Yupper would want any of my vehicles in their backyard (let alone their front yard or driveway). Still, if at some point I actually own a vehicle with value to someone other than myself, I will definitely install a car alarm (thanks to the many vigilant tourists who visit each year).

As a matter of fact, I have my car alarm all planned. Rather than meaningless screeches, or horns with flashing lights, my car alarm will play a loudly amplified recording of Andy Williams singing “Moon River.” I figure that during those awkward times when the alarm sounds for no apparent reason whatsoever, Andy’s croons will soothe otherwise offended listeners. I am also hopeful that with this specialized alarm someone, somewhere, at sometime will finally be able to explain to me what the hell the lyrics to “Moon River” are supposed to mean.