One of my worst memories about old MX bikes is about an RM370.
I think that one is a '76. The one in my story was a '78, and didn't belong to me...plus, it was bored to a 450, and was pretty beat up. So I wanted to cuntpete in this "junior" hare scramble @ our local track, but didn't have the necessary cubic centimeters to make it happen. It was 175cc and above. All the other kids were using their dad's, brother's, or whoever's piece of shit PT, or Elsinore. My older brother suggested that I borrow his friends' RM 370. The dude agreed, and said not to worry about crashing it, 'cause he had three other ones. Those old 370s' still maintain legendary powerband status. After noticing my feet wouldn't reach the ground, my brother asked if it would be ok if they balanced me @ the start/finish line. All I really had the chance to do was run it around the parking lot before the time trial. It was noticably faster than my YZ80, and the clutch was really soft.
Anyway, about 1/2 a mile in, I dumped the clutch coming out of this tight trail, and wound up careening through a stand of small pines. You know, the whole "spin cycle" sensation. Eventually, I got my act together, and pushed the bike over to a grown pine tree so I could lean against it to kick the fucker off. Right after I got it running, I noticed alot of blood on the tank...that's when I noticed the huge gash in my arm. Needless to say, I just took the shortest way back to the start/finish line. I remember one of the checkpoint dudes yelling at me. When I got back to ground zero, this old bastard that nobody liked came running over and said I was disqualified. I was crying and shit. The dude that loaned me the bike came over and said something like, "look!! he painted the tank!!!"
25 stitches.
Good times.