Rear-Ended by a BMW on the Kaohsiung Freeway | Hit-and-Run Incident & Insurance Battle

On April 1st, after driving my classmate Yang Hsiao-hua back to her family home in Tainan, I swung by the Yongkang interchange to pick up Hsieh Tsung-hsiang for our road trip south. Earlier in Taipei, when preparing to drive Hsiao-hua home, I had instructed Tsung-hsiang to take an intercity coach down to wait for us—private car time with a girl allows no third-wheel chaperones (fist pump).

As the two of us cruised down Sun Yat-sen Freeway, inching forward in line toward the Gangshan toll plaza, a black BMW 7 Series abruptly slammed into our rear bumper just before the toll gate.

Nobody ever wants an accident, but bizarrely, it was our vehicle that got out first to inspect the damage while the other driver took his sweet time. The BMW driver was a cocky young punk wearing an intensely begrudging scowl.

Because we were approaching the toll gates, speeds were relatively low. The damage was limited to a crushed rear bumper, a slight distortion at the bottom seam of the fifth tailgate, and minor alignment shift on the left rear quarter panel. Ordinary repair costs would have handled it easily—hardly an insurmountable sum, especially for someone driving a BMW.

Yet his attitude was atrocious. Stepping out of his car, he barely glanced at the impact, pulled a meager wad of NT$100 bills from his pocket, and shoved them toward me as "repair money." I told him that chump change wouldn’t even cover a fraction of the workshop estimate. Refusing to entertain his nonsense, I pulled out my phone to dial the police so that I could file an official insurance claim.

While I was on the line, the guy actually had the nerve to argue: “Look, my car has scratches too, can’t we just call it even?”

As I spoke with the emergency 110 dispatcher, I thought to myself: “What kind of utter idiot is this?”

Seeing that I was actively summoning the police, he panicked, hopped back into his BMW, and attempted to peel away. But as he rolled alongside my driver’s door, he suddenly swung his door wide open and stepped out wielding an expandable metal tactical baton.

Frankly, I couldn’t fathom his logic—if you’re going to flee, at least do it cleanly. He brandished the steel baton, gesturing aggressively and shouting at me to hang up the phone.

I merely gave him a cold, impassive stare, ignored his theatrical display, and dialed my auto insurance agent to report the hit.

Seeing that his intimidation failed to rattle me, his eyes betrayed sudden bewilderment. Sheepishly, he retreated into his BMW and sped off into highway traffic.

Fortunately, Tsung-hsiang rides and drives regularly, giving him sharp situational awareness in traffic incidents. While I had been occupied with dispatchers and agents, he had already pulled out a digital camera and captured crystal-clear photos of the fleeing BMW and its license plate.

Shortly after, a tow truck arrived on the scene. Seeing that my car was still drivable, the tow operator told me to shift onto the shoulder to avoid obstructing traffic. After escorting us to the shoulder, the tow driver proceeded to reverse at speed back down the freeway shoulder—an absurd highway spectacle in its own right.

After what felt like an eternity, the National Highway Police cruiser (Red Zebra) finally arrived. Officers took a cursory summary and instructed me to trail their cruiser to the Fifth Highway Police Brigade headquarters to lodge an official report.

Bizarrely, the highway police led my passenger car through the heavy commercial vehicle toll lane, forcing me to pay an oversized vehicle toll fee of NT$50.

At the police precinct, officers administered the mandatory breathalyzer test. After taking down statements, the duty officer merely handed me a basic accident notification slip for insurance filing. There was zero urgency to issue an all-points bulletin for the hit-and-run vehicle, nor did they issue an official tripartite crime incident report (san-lian-dan). It bore all the hallmarks of administrative foot-dragging.

Between bureaucratic stalling and sluggish paperwork, our entire schedule was derailed. By the time we stepped out of the precinct, two hours had elapsed—it was already 7:00 PM.

Evidently, police stations sometimes feel like institutions engineered primarily to penalize the victims.

Later on, my insurance adjusters insisted that the fleeing vehicle had to be tracked down and confronted before they would approve payout. I phoned the Fifth Highway Police Brigade repeatedly, until they finally mailed me a formal summons instructing me to travel back down to Kaohsiung to conduct an in-person confrontation with the BMW driver.

On the appointed date, torrential typhoon-like rain lashed Taiwan Province, Republic of China. I boarded an early coach from the Taipei bus terminal straight to Gangshan, Kaohsiung, then took a taxi to the highway police precinct.

Stepping into the deserted precinct, I was greeted by the sight of multiple officers wielding mops and hoses, casually washing down the tiled floor. The handling officer parked me on a waiting bench and disappeared.

Hours ticked by. The BMW driver never materialized—he clearly had zero intention of showing up. Officers mopping the floor cast puzzled looks at why I was stranded sitting in their lobby all morning.

Only after I had waited an eternity did a dashing inspector finally emerge, casually announcing: “The BMW owner isn’t coming today, you can head home now.” I was left standing there in utter disbelief.

I had spent intercity bus fares, taxi fares, an entire working day, and taken unpaid leave from my patent law firm—all for a summons issued by police who couldn’t even confirm whether the suspect would appear, with no legal enforcement to compel his attendance! They had casually summoned a victim residing at the northern tip of Taiwan Province, Republic of China, to travel all the way to the southern end on pure whim.

Returning to Tamsui thoroughly enraged, I took a hot shower, sat down at my workstation, and composed two formal administrative grievances.

One went straight to the Kaohsiung County Magistrate’s executive petition inbox; the other was fired directly to the Director-General of the National Police Agency.

Within twenty-four hours, police internal affairs contacted me, stating that a dedicated senior officer had been assigned to oversee my case personally.

Unsurprisingly, that "dedicated senior officer" turned out to be the exact same dashing detective who had left me stranded in the precinct lobby. On the phone, his demeanor had shifted completely. He hastily requested that I visit the Taishan Highway Police detachment near Taipei instead, which was far closer and more convenient for me. One couldn’t help but ask: why on earth had they demanded I travel to southern Kaohsiung in the first place?

During our phone conversation, it was obvious he had been severely reprimanded by superior inspection bureaus. His tone was laced with defensive frustration, even questioning why I hadn’t explicitly stressed that the perpetrator brandished a baton, claiming that had he known, he would have mobilized an immediate search. (As if my original recorded statement hadn’t detailed the weapon!)

Ultimately, my vehicle was covered under limited own-damage collision insurance, which initially tried to withhold payout pending perpetrator location. Before the detective followed up, I spent an afternoon scrutinizing the fine print of my policy contract, identified a contractual ambiguity, and legally compelled the insurance carrier to disburse the full repair compensation.

Once the insurance payout was secured, I had little interest in humoring police internal affairs any further. With that bureaucratic hurdle resolved, my car was released from the body shop—because I certainly had no intention of paying out-of-pocket for someone else’s hit-and-run (smiles).