Hello, Hell? Reservation For One Please.

*** continued from previous post ***

Now I’m going to share with you something that even your Mother doesn’t know. Well, unless she’s reading this.


After High Tea, and before dinner, I went out to check the oil level on the bike. We were leaving in the morning, and I didn’t want to have to do it then. So, with a wary eye about for mooses and cougars and bears (oh my!), I walked the short distance to the bike and proceeded to take a gander at her vital fluids.

As I sat there with dipstick in hand, a horrible thought crossed my brain. An awful thought. An evil thought. A ‘how could you do that?’ thought.

Robert’s bike was sitting so close, so very close . . .

I jumped off the bike and with the oily dipstick in hand, I went over to his BMW, and - oh so carefully - I placed 3 drops of oil on the ground underneath his bike’s frame, directly below the motor. I spread them out a bit, in a trail, and I let a little puddle accumulate on the last one directly below the engine.

Yes. I realize I’m an evil, evil man.

For you see, nothing will shake a motorcycle rider faster than a little bit of oil under their bike. Especially a BMW rider. If Robert had been riding a Harley I wouldn’t have bothered. Harleys leak oil all the time. A Harley rider would have looked at those three drops and wondered why there weren’t more. The consensus amongst Harley riders is that it’s not leaking oil - it’s simply breathing.

But poor Robert, I knew, would spend hours trying to track down the leak. He would never find it of course, but it would haunt him for days. Weeks maybe.

Yes, your suspicions have been confirmed. I am a right bastard.

But a funny one.

Mostly.


* * *

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*** the journey continues ***