Back around 1968, my buddy Mark and I made a little road trip on our bikes out to Calico Ghost Town, up near Barstow — about a hundred and twenty miles for us. He rode his BSA 650; I was on my Triumph 650 Bonneville.
We pulled into the parking lot, locked the steering on both bikes, and took off to explore the town. Partway through, we came to a spot overlooking the lot and tried to pick out our bikes. We found them — and found two guys wearing colors from a biker club, freshly arrived, bent over messing with our carburetors. They didn't see us.
After we'd toured the whole town, we headed back to leave — remembering exactly what we'd seen, we quietly reset the carbs back to where they belonged before even trying to start them. When we looked up toward where we'd been standing, there they were, waiting to watch us try and fail.
Both bikes fired right up on the first try.