If you find yourself drawn to the slow drip of absurdity that is much of daily life, California’s ongoing airborne whodunit might become your new favorite story. According to the Los Angeles Times, and as The Independent highlights, a 75-year-old man named Jason Hong has been enduring a recurring sequence that is equal parts baffling and, oddly enough, almost polite: a thief absconds with his 1958 Cessna Skyhawk, takes it for joyrides around Southern California, gives it minor repairs, then returns it—only to start the cycle all over again.

The Timeline: Flight, Confusion, Repeat

Hong calls his Skyhawk his “old treasure,” and on July 27, his 75th birthday, he decided to visit the plane at Corona Municipal Airport after church. Instead of a leisurely reunion, he found nothing where the Cessna should have been. As detailed in the LA Times, his initial reaction was relatable (“Did I park it somewhere else?”) despite the object in question weighing over 1,600 pounds and usually not lending itself to casual misplacement.

After some likely awkward conversations and a growing sense of incredulity, Hong learned from both police and area pilots that someone had been flying his plane across Southern California, unnoticed on at least two occasions. The Independent notes that even the initial report left police and owner alike scratching their heads; as Hong himself told the paper, “I got confused.”

The story doesn’t stop with a single heist. Instead, the saga continues: after reporting the plane missing, Hong received a call from La Verne Police that his Skyhawk was sitting at Brackett Field Airport, about 25 miles away. Upon arrival, Hong discovered the cockpit strewn with garbage and cigarette butts but otherwise found his “old treasure” in working order.

Frustrated but determined to keep his plane grounded, Hong removed the battery. As the LA Times documents, he figured this would foil any future unauthorized departures. That plan lasted precisely until the following weekend, when he returned to find not only the plane gone again, but that it had a new battery installed when it was recovered at San Gabriel Valley Airport. The Independent also points out that a new headset appeared in the cockpit as well, suggesting the intruder was a little too comfortable—and oddly invested.

More Than a Joyride, Less Than a Heist

Described in The Independent, the kind of thief who spends hundreds of dollars fixing and equipping a stolen plane before returning it borders on the mythic. Sergeant Robert Montanez of the Corona Police Department summed up local law enforcement’s feelings to the LA Times: “The plane just keeps disappearing out of the blue. It’s just weird.” Evidently, the situation is so rare that Corona Police had to use stolen car paperwork to document the missing aircraft.

Most theft is, if nothing else, transactional—someone gets something valuable, someone else gets the sinking feeling. But as both outlets emphasize through Hong’s own bewilderment, this string of incidents is missing the familiar motives. “Someone breaks into your house, they’re looking for jewelry or cash, right?” Hong told The Independent. “But in this case, what’s the purpose? It’s like someone breaks my window, and then they put a new one up.”

Delving further into the mystery, Hong used FlightAware, a public flight tracking service, to investigate exactly when his old Cessna was being flown. As reported by both the LA Times and The Independent, the flight logs revealed his plane was taken out on multiple flights—including one at 1:30 AM—on Hong’s own birthday, apparently by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. “Landing is not easy, so they’re trained,” Hong reasonably concluded.

The Ghost in the Cockpit

The question of who would go through all this effort, and, well, pride of workmanship, is a major sticking point. Both sources note that there are no surveillance videos or camera footage to provide leads, leaving authorities and Hong without much to go on.

However, one detail emerges—as the LA Times and The Independent both recount—thanks to a regular at San Gabriel Valley Airport. He observed a woman, about 5’3″ and in her 40s or 50s, often sitting in Hong’s red-and-white plane during the day. This stood out because, as the pilot recounted to Hong, it seemed odd that she’d sit in a roasting-hot cockpit when the airport’s lounge was air-conditioned. Whether she’s a deeply committed aviator, an extreme introvert, or simply enjoys sauna-like conditions while plotting flight plans, is anyone’s guess.

Motive? Still Missing

As previously reported, Hong has since chained the Skyhawk at San Gabriel Valley Airport, refusing to fly it until he can give it a thorough inspection (as documented by both the LA Times and The Independent). Neither he nor investigators are any closer to understanding who is responsible or what their purpose might be.

And really, what sort of person goes to these lengths to “borrow” a plane, spruce it up, and ensure it’s back in reasonable shape before the owner finds it? It’s one thing to take a car for a joyride, another to do preventive maintenance on your way to illegally returning it.

Is the pilot motivated by nostalgia? Do they see themselves as a phantom-of-the-airport, dedicated to giving a neglected plane some exercise—and fresh batteries? Could it be an exceptionally niche form of performance art, or is it just an unsolved itch to recapture a piece of their past, consequences be damned?

Is This the Most California Crime Ever? Or the Most Polite?

Very few of us have ever had our property disappear and return with upgrades, all courtesy of a mystery benefactor and without so much as a calling card. As illustrated by the reporting, Hong is left to ponder an incident more confusing than tragic, more bemusing than menacing—a case that even seasoned police shrug at, and which might one day find itself as the answer to a very specific trivia question.

You have to wonder—if you walked out to your garage and found your bicycle not only missing but returned days later with the brakes replaced and some garbage in the basket, would you be annoyed, grateful, or both? Is this the kind of oddness that only comes along in the misfit corners of urban life, or are we all just one untraceable joy flight away from puzzling over our own possessions?

Maybe the true moral here is that sometimes the world isn’t just stranger than we imagine, but stranger than we can imagine. And sometimes, that means someone replaces your airplane battery when you least expect it.