So the gf and I just had a fight and I took off for some air. Tank was low, pulled into a station near Fenway Park on a Saturday evening around midnight. Was in a fog, not thinking, started filling the tank and wondered, "Wow, that gas really looks green! Must be these weird florescent lights." Then I go to put the nozzle back and BY THE GRACE OF GOD I realized what I'd done: just filled the entire tank up with diesel.
First off, I've never been so glad for a vacum petcock before -- at least none of it got into my carbs. Anyway, so there I am, just one kick away from disaster. I do have my tools though, so I just take the tank off and bring it into the station. The guy must have thought I was nuts, but I think he was so shocked, he just let me dump it into his waste oil tank. I wanted it out of there so badly I didn't even think to open the petcock at first, just sloshed it all into the drain (and the ground, and my boots, and my jeans)... Once most of it was out I realized I should have just opened the petcock so I set it to prime, and that's how I got the rest out.
Meanwhile, just as I'm turning the petcock, I see this Suburban full of sketchballs milling around my bike. I can't figure out what they're eying... and then I realize my Vanson jacket is draped over my seat. I go over and pick it up, and the guy says to me, "Hey brotha, I know ya' in a jam right now, but my friends and I really need some gas to get to Reveyah" (that's "Revere" in a thick Boston accent). "Think you can spot us some money?" "Um, I kinda got a lot to deal with right now, man. Talk to me when I'm done, ok?"
Jacket in hand, I go back to emptying the tank. When I turn back around, they're gone, evidently without needing to get any gas.
Anyhow, I shake the tank and it really does sound empty. I go back to the pump, fill it with about 1/4 tank of 87, shake it around, then dump that, then remount the tank on my bike. I fill it up, and again, THANK GOD I REMEMBERED THE EXACT FUEL CAPACITY OF MY BIKE! I check the meter, and it's right at 4.708. Perfect. Moment of truth, I kick it over and it purrs to life. Get home, no smoke. Tool around for another 30 minutes, still no smoke. Do a 200 mile ride the next day and that clinches it: disaster averted.
Moral of the story: don't be an idiot and go off riding when you've got **** on your mind, and if you do make a mistake, take your time and think before you go making it much, much worse. Just to scare myself a little more I spent some time googling what running the engine with a tankful of diesel would have done to it, and that kept me grateful for a good week. Even now I think back on it and smile a "wow I just dodged a bullet" smile. Feels good knowing that for once I actually caught a bonehead move before it cost me my bike for the season (no way I could have saved that money before it's time to winterize it, and even then, who knows how extensive the damage would have been).
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