In my early biking days I was riding a BMW R75/5 (which I still own). In Germany we called them "rubber cow" owing to their soft suspension and unstable chassis. At an outing with our club we camped in some paddock. I was by them probably the last BMW rider left, everybody else preferring cheaper Jap bikes that outperformed any BMW in any which way.

The next morning I discovered bundles of grass piled onto the cylinders. Somebody pointed out that cows need to eat grass, but if it didn't want to eat I should drain the oil, then it would certainly eat (implying that running the engine without oil would result in a "Kolbenfresser", the piston eating into the cylinder). This was all in good humour, of course.

Some time later our bike shop organised a rally for customers which also involved members of the same club. We had all booked into a camp ground near a small village in the Eifel hills. The camp also sported a pub, frequented by the locals. One of them was a young guy who made a nuisance out of himself riding his CB400F rather fast around and in and out of the camp ground, where children were running around. I finally decidd to teach him a lesson. After he disappeared back into the pub I casually wandered over to his bike with another club member to admire his bike. The I swapped the plug leads of cylinders 3 and 4. I never saw myself what happened later, as he stayed in the pub past my bed time. But my friends with glee reported that he had great difficulty starting his bike, coughing and spluttering, and that's how he puttered out of the camp. He never bothered us again.

Guilty as charged.

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Cheers,
Peter.

Europe to NZ 2006-10