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• A short and incomplete Biography

Klaus Fischer was called 'Fifi' which actually is a common name for dogs here. I met him for the first time at the end of the 60s in the bike shop in my street. The shop was ran by a man called Peppi Pozzi of Italian origins. Peppi's shop was not commissioned to one brand of motorcycles, they repaired, traded and sold whatever had two wheels. Peppi built and sold even his own brand of bicycles.

At this time Fifi was a salesman for one of the Swiss bike importers. He told Peppi about his recent divorce and the newfound liberties. Only much later I realized what a ladies' man he was. Also, much later he told me that his wife at the time of the divorce had no less than 14 cats. Fifi was then a still brash young man, an absolute bike buff, racing, selling, repairing, riding and dealing in bikes. Even in the 60s he was already a legend in the Swiss motorbike community. A legend because he got into motorcycles when all of Europe bought the ridiculous mini cars or 'Cheese Bubbles' as we called them in Switzerland. Rumours were told of his own race shop on the mountain 'Albis'. At the time I was a member of the 'Honda Club Zurich' (another story to be told) and our president managed to have Fifi visit our meetings which we considered a great honour. On these meetings we went on nightly trips, blasting through Switzerland at up to 100 mph. With Fifi as an admired guest we would do our best to impress him with reckless riding.

Around 1970, Peter Althaus, a racing fan started in his garage the first Swiss motorcycle magazine. He soon needed help and got Fifi to join him. Fifi had quit his job and was about to start work with the then importer of the Japanese Honda motorcycles. At that very moment Honda in Japan decided to set up their own business in Switzerland. It was common practice to get some dealer to start business for a Japanese factory. As soon as the dealer had established a sound business base the factory dropped him to set up their own organisation. Fifi couldn't start working with Honda and jumped at the offer to join the bike magazine. The business boomed, Fifi was made editor in chief after some years.

After 20 years we met again when I started writing for the bike magazine. I was invited to see Fifi at the legendary race workshop on the Albis. In the meantime he had married again. Instead of 14 cats he had acquired 14 Moto Guzzi motorcycles. And he was a great story teller. According to his accounts he had been in a plane which crash landed and broke in two, he repaired his motorcycle in Africa converting a screw driver into a push rod, he had been in a van en route to the Ducati motorcycle factory in Bologna when one of his co-editors grabbed a snow chain and lashed out of the window at a Volvo which tried to pass them, he had eaten and survived the most poisonous mushrooms at a friends dinner party. His involvement with the fair sex had become the stuff of legends. He told me some of his amorous adventures like the visit to Daytona Beach for the Bike Week when he met a Czech girl. In the morning they went parachuting, in the afternoon he was in bed with her.

In the mid 90s we did a test on a scooter and he came to my place when my wife's sister was visiting. When the sister remarked something about coming home from another woman, Fifi remarked drily '... to have the scent of another woman on you ...'

He 'managed' to get involved in some 'business' in Santo Domingo, now going to 60, telling me of all the gorgeous girls in the bars and the screwing going on right behind the bar. He invested a lot of money in a Hotel (in plain English a brothel) which was to be run by his girl friend. He gladly disregarded all warnings from his friends and ran dead straight in disaster, losing money and girl friend. His wife got her divorce, moved to Germany with her friend and Fifi retired from the magazine at 62. And he didn't give up in Santo Domingo. He got himself a new girl friend, she was in her 30s with a small boy. He made great efforts to learn the language at which he was quite proficient. In between he had suffered a by-pass operation on his heart. Three weeks after the surgery his heart beat went up to 180. In an emergency he was rushed to the hospital where the surgeons told they had to stop and 'restart' his heart to correct the disorder. Seven percent of the patients wouldn't survive. Yes or No? He said yes and afterwards enjoyed a rate of 82. His sex life got an enormous boost. All according to his own account. But racing his vintage Moto Guzzi with five implanted by-passes was not considered a good idea by his doctors. He sold his collection of Moto Guzzis, keeping only his beloved Astore 500 and a V7 Sport. He spent a lot of time with the little boy of his girl friend.

One of the last times I met him was at a staffer's meeting in a freezing cold night. Fifi was about two hours late because he got stuck on the motorway in a snow storm. The poor girl from warm Santo Domingo must have frozen almost to death in that car. Eventually they made it to the party. Fifi proudly and protectively showing around his 30 year younger girl he was about to marry. He was on the brink of making a joke of himself. I felt a pity for him and wondered what went wrong with his second wife who was a very nice woman.

They didn't marry. Fifi suddenly suffered a tooth ache and misreading the signs didn't go immediately to the dentist. My peerless friend who had had so many women, knew so many stories to tell, raced in hundreds of bike races, had been invited to the lap honour in the IoM, been to places all over the world died of an infected tooth at 64. He was true granite.

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Text Robert Pfeffer
CH-8180 Bulach

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