I went the way of all bikers...over the bonnet!
I always said it would be a Rover that took me out. Right? I’ve said for years “It’ll be Rover and he will cut across my path and boom”. Forget Volvos, they all migrated to Rovers.
Well in the odd way that accidents happen and seconds change everything this one was no exception. He didn’t remove me from the planet but worse he destroyed a beautiful red and white 1998 original Yamaha YZF R1. My baby! Now had he been 1 second quicker I’d be doing wheelies and burn-outs in Hell. (They tell me burn-outs are much, much easier in Hell). Or had I NOT been sensible (my being sensible was a rare occurrence because being sensible just does not suit me) but had I chosen to make my usual ‘brisk progress’ I would have been well past him when he pulled out. And like all accidents, I was 5 minutes from home. He was 3 seconds from home.
I was cruising about 50-55 in a 60 zone with very little traffic in the leafy green ‘A’ road that leads me home. Bright and sunny about 7pm. Lights on, VERY visible in full leathers of black and white and red on a red and white bike. I saw the blue Rover MG with the big spoiler on the back to my right waiting to dash across this main road, into my path, and on into a small side road. I eased off the throttle instantly to see what he would do. Yup. He roared into my path and I managed a perfectly straight controlled stoppie. Right into his nearside wing.
I was catapulted across his bonnet and as I somersaulted through the air I was actually thinking “wee what a great flip!”. No word of a lie. It felt like a fairground ride. Until the unforgiving black stuff about 2 metres beyond his bonnet took a chunk out of my helmet and shoulder. I managed a ‘parachute roll’ and minimized the damage. I tried to sit up but was a tad woozy. Then as I did sit up a friendly blond arrived at my side and said she was a doctor. I thought she was an angel and I was at the pearly gates but I knew THAT was never going to be. So I took my gloves off and helmet and then remembered my camera in my super Axio backpack. I took it out as the driver got out and asked how I was. “Never better, sorry to crash in on you old chap” I said. He asked if he should call an ambulance (Yes please) and as I sat stunned I saw my baby with her arse in the air on the other side of the car. I started taking photos.
I got up and took more shots but by now the punches to my thighs and belly from smashing the screen were really hurting. The driver’s wife appeared and looked worse than me poor girl. It was her car. She said she would kill her husband but we managed to laugh together. He apologised profusely and said those immortal words that all car drivers do “I never saw you mate!”
Well in the odd way that accidents happen and seconds change everything this one was no exception. He didn’t remove me from the planet but worse he destroyed a beautiful red and white 1998 original Yamaha YZF R1. My baby! Now had he been 1 second quicker I’d be doing wheelies and burn-outs in Hell. (They tell me burn-outs are much, much easier in Hell). Or had I NOT been sensible (my being sensible was a rare occurrence because being sensible just does not suit me) but had I chosen to make my usual ‘brisk progress’ I would have been well past him when he pulled out. And like all accidents, I was 5 minutes from home. He was 3 seconds from home.
I was cruising about 50-55 in a 60 zone with very little traffic in the leafy green ‘A’ road that leads me home. Bright and sunny about 7pm. Lights on, VERY visible in full leathers of black and white and red on a red and white bike. I saw the blue Rover MG with the big spoiler on the back to my right waiting to dash across this main road, into my path, and on into a small side road. I eased off the throttle instantly to see what he would do. Yup. He roared into my path and I managed a perfectly straight controlled stoppie. Right into his nearside wing.
I was catapulted across his bonnet and as I somersaulted through the air I was actually thinking “wee what a great flip!”. No word of a lie. It felt like a fairground ride. Until the unforgiving black stuff about 2 metres beyond his bonnet took a chunk out of my helmet and shoulder. I managed a ‘parachute roll’ and minimized the damage. I tried to sit up but was a tad woozy. Then as I did sit up a friendly blond arrived at my side and said she was a doctor. I thought she was an angel and I was at the pearly gates but I knew THAT was never going to be. So I took my gloves off and helmet and then remembered my camera in my super Axio backpack. I took it out as the driver got out and asked how I was. “Never better, sorry to crash in on you old chap” I said. He asked if he should call an ambulance (Yes please) and as I sat stunned I saw my baby with her arse in the air on the other side of the car. I started taking photos.
I got up and took more shots but by now the punches to my thighs and belly from smashing the screen were really hurting. The driver’s wife appeared and looked worse than me poor girl. It was her car. She said she would kill her husband but we managed to laugh together. He apologised profusely and said those immortal words that all car drivers do “I never saw you mate!”
By now the crowds had asked some bikers to help get the bike to the grass verge and then the ambulance arrived. Now the pain was to begin because in the interests of my ‘safety’ they trussed me up like a chicken in a neck brace and a damned head-crushing device designed by the Catholic Inquisition. That bloody head restraint is so badly designed that it has hard plastic edges that cut into your skull. I told the doctor I would find the designer and inflict serious pain on him. I was rolled into a red inflatable bag and whisked off to Guildford Hospital A&E.
Now the usual Kingstone luck began. It was one of the busiest nights and I would be there over 5 hours. X-rays were arranged as I began to slowly swell in all sorts of places and pain began to grow. Then the bobbies arrived. Nice lads really but they wanted a statement and gave me the usual warning that anything I said would be written down, retyped into lies and used to imprison me for being a biker. And a sports biker at that! I told him the story very slowly so he could write it out word for word and then signed it. With a broken right wrist. The same broken wrist I used to snap photos. Good thing my single brain cell didn’t kick in. Off they went to deal with some yob caught shoplifting for his drug habit. I offered to kill him but they reckoned he’s manage that well enough by himself.
A very nice doctor gave me a thorough examination for almost an hour it seemed and declared me remarkably fit and tough for my age. I told him I dove over the car to come to Hospital for just that compliment. We had a few laughs and established the damage. Broken right wrist, fracture to the right foot, Achilles tendon damage (MY GOODNESS WE ARE TALKING PAIN WITH THAT ONE), and a bashed forefinger on the left hand. Great! The very finger necessary to raise a cuppa tea! I guess I’ll have to go over to drinking beer. Muscles in my thighs are badly punched about so lifting a leg is agony. But the real damage is that my R1 is well smashed. I’m lonely already.
So I finally hobble out the Hospital door in plaster to a midnight taxi home that bankrupts me. The kindly driver took 5 minutes to get me the 2 metres into my living room. I called my friend Louisa at 1am to come play nurse. She told me to go to bed. So I phoned a buddy in Minneapolis who would sympathise enough to stop the adrenalin rush I was on so I could sleep. At 3am Louisa brought some food and water and got the aspirin for me. So here I sit, broken hearted, my R1 and I forever parted.
Lessons learned?
1. Had I been speeding I would not have had the accident so I need a faster bike. Right? Makes perfect sense to me.
2. If you see a Rover (read Buick/Oldsmobile in the States) go in any direction - but get away!
3. Never, ever, ever ride without all the protective clobber. Not even to ‘pop down to the shops’.
4. Try to avoid ambulances. They’ll really give you a pain in the neck.
Now the usual Kingstone luck began. It was one of the busiest nights and I would be there over 5 hours. X-rays were arranged as I began to slowly swell in all sorts of places and pain began to grow. Then the bobbies arrived. Nice lads really but they wanted a statement and gave me the usual warning that anything I said would be written down, retyped into lies and used to imprison me for being a biker. And a sports biker at that! I told him the story very slowly so he could write it out word for word and then signed it. With a broken right wrist. The same broken wrist I used to snap photos. Good thing my single brain cell didn’t kick in. Off they went to deal with some yob caught shoplifting for his drug habit. I offered to kill him but they reckoned he’s manage that well enough by himself.
A very nice doctor gave me a thorough examination for almost an hour it seemed and declared me remarkably fit and tough for my age. I told him I dove over the car to come to Hospital for just that compliment. We had a few laughs and established the damage. Broken right wrist, fracture to the right foot, Achilles tendon damage (MY GOODNESS WE ARE TALKING PAIN WITH THAT ONE), and a bashed forefinger on the left hand. Great! The very finger necessary to raise a cuppa tea! I guess I’ll have to go over to drinking beer. Muscles in my thighs are badly punched about so lifting a leg is agony. But the real damage is that my R1 is well smashed. I’m lonely already.
So I finally hobble out the Hospital door in plaster to a midnight taxi home that bankrupts me. The kindly driver took 5 minutes to get me the 2 metres into my living room. I called my friend Louisa at 1am to come play nurse. She told me to go to bed. So I phoned a buddy in Minneapolis who would sympathise enough to stop the adrenalin rush I was on so I could sleep. At 3am Louisa brought some food and water and got the aspirin for me. So here I sit, broken hearted, my R1 and I forever parted.
Lessons learned?
1. Had I been speeding I would not have had the accident so I need a faster bike. Right? Makes perfect sense to me.
2. If you see a Rover (read Buick/Oldsmobile in the States) go in any direction - but get away!
3. Never, ever, ever ride without all the protective clobber. Not even to ‘pop down to the shops’.
4. Try to avoid ambulances. They’ll really give you a pain in the neck.
I had a fantasic day at Brands Hatch where Leon Camier slaughtered everyone on the gorgeous sounding R1. He won all 3 races this weekend. More about my weekend at Brands Hatch for the British Superbike races in the next blog. I’m slow at typing as it is but with no moveable fingers on my right hand it’s a chore!
Ride safe everyone. Trust no one.
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