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It’s amazing how in the blink of an eye, over fifteen years of two wheeled passion and lust for motorised fun can evaporate. It vanished almost as quickly as that Mercedes van’s tail lift flew towards my face.

What came next was a spell of darkness, followed by complete confusion, and then the sudden rush of adrenaline that kicked me back into the real world just in time to realise the fuel in my freshly filled tank was spilling out all over my crotch.
I was quickly dragged to the side of the road without even looking at my poor bike, which I assumed was mostly in pieces, along with my pride.
For goodness sake, I hit the BACK of the van. What an idiot’s mistake. I was looking over my shoulder to check the other lane, looked forward, and there it was, a nice wall of metal objecting to my smooth transition between destinations.

It was one of the strangest things that has ever happened to me because I can clearly remember not closing my eyes at the point of impact, so can still see it all over and over again in my head. I suppose that could be a factor in what I can only call my ‘fear’ of being on bikes. But stranger than not closing my eyes, for me anyway, was the silence.

After the initial hit and horrible crunching sounds there was nothing, I mean there was pedestrian and other traffic noise but I was silent, not a word. No swearing, no cursing, no crying. Okay there was the occasional gasp of pain when I kept realising it felt like my whole inside leg was on fire, but otherwise… nothing. Very strange!
This was followed by an afternoon and evening in hospital, and getting very irate with the police officers who seemed adamant that my semi-conscious mind state would be the right time to question me and then tell me I was being reported for driving without due care and attention.

Considering I was the only casualty, the only damage was to my bike and that I was actually doing my observations when the crash occurred, I feel a little peeved. And no I wasn’t speeding or drunk, which they presumed was the case.
In fact, the first communication I had with the police was an officer asking if I would admit to speeding and accept liability. I told him in very few words to leave the ambulance and let the paramedics continue treating me.

I eventually left hospital very stiff and covered in bruises, but in one piece. My bike was taken to The Archway Project workshop (in Thamesmead, southeast London) where it remains, for now. Some stitching wizardry has repaired the cosmetic damage and work is being done on the rest, which isn’t extensive, but I am lacking the enthusiasm to actually want it back.

I stand by the theory that had I had brakes made of metal rather than a wet sponge then I may have been able to do something in the little reaction time I had. So I do want to continue my motorcycle love because, lets face it, it wasn’t a horrific crash, and there are racers who crash every week at 100mph+, so who am I to chicken out. But on the other hand, I have only been a passenger on the back of a bike a few times since the accident and they were terrifying! Scared stiff on the back of my dad – the best rider in the world!

I don’t think it’ll take long to get my confidence back, but I sure as hell want a decent bike this time, it seems like bodge jobs and bangers have caught up with me and taken there revenge all at once.
I know what might help… perhaps another enduro!!
two wheel passion
www.theridersdigest.co.uk

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