You blokes know how to make someone laugh, so to lighten the mood a bit more often, I reckon a funny story or 10 about scooteria would be the go to make the long night watches go a bit quicker. Just stuff you've seen/done/heard about that makes you giggle. And remember, like my Opa used to say "Boy, never let the truth get in the way of a good story", so SLIGHT embrellishments are to be encouraged, nay, preferable even! I'll start with one involving my mad drag mates...... At the track, there's quite a few scoots, mostly used for towing long-bikes back to the pits after a run. We all travel down the return road in between the track and the stands filled with our adoring fans (most of the cheers are for those of us brave enough to deliberately fall off the back at 80mph at 1/4 track. Such obviously clever antics are frowned upon however, since the sport has become more professional). It's funny, most of our cheers happen at the same time a 5-second Doorslammer goes down the track after the bikes.....I'm sure that's just coincidence though. I myself have received numerous bouts of spontaneous applause over the years, like when I locked the back tyre of the big nasty Kwaka Zed at 135mph when it seized up solid. One day, on a particularly beautiful day of racing, the sun was shining through meandering yellow clouds of rubber smoke and methanol to light up the weeds trackside, I found myself in a group of about 6 racers all being towed back together after our runs. We had all finished our racing exploits for the next hour or so, but HA!HA!, our devoted wives/girlfriends/daughters/significant others apparently had not. So they decided to race back to the pits, side-by-side, towing their soon-forgotten precious darlings behind them. Try to imagine 1/2dozen screaming, squealing women roaring in laughter, almost drowned out by the sound of their screaming 2stroke steeds in a pack absolutely belting down the return road.......at about 20mph.......with all of us following discreetly, NOT!!!. The announcer at the track drew everyone's attention to the goings-on of course, thereby focusing everyone's attention to the return road, just as the interviewer trackside leaped rather ungracefully to the side, lest he be rendered flat-pack by the marauding ladies astride their trusty mosquito's-on-pipe. And the worst part? We went past the stands so damn fast, while hanging on at the end of a rope for grim death, that none of our adoring public got to witness our humble waves of thanks for their continued breathless adulation.........DAMMIT!!!! These days I race a streeter. No more tow ropes. Bloody scooters.