A tale of woe from days gone by...
It was the Queen Mothers birthday, or there about. To be a little more precise it was a Saturday evening in 1989, all my mates were away on holiday, and there was nothing on the television. Well that's not true, there was something on the TV, a Royal Variety show in honor of the Queen Mum and I was not watching that. It was a very hot August and I decided to go for a blast on my bike to cool down. I wish I'd had a beer instead.
So warm was the night that I decided against putting my leather jeans and boots on, but I did put on my leather jacket over a T-shirt as well as leather gloves and my helmet. Denim jeans and a pair of trainers covered my lower half. My second mistake.
I headed out of the village and onto the bypass with the vague notion that perhaps I could stop by and see if Nadia was home. I turned off he bypass and headed towards Frensham and Hindhead, where Nadia lived. While I blatted past the ponds on the straight bits, the bike was too long and big to do the twisty bits well. A Kawasaki GPz 1000RX it was capable of over 150mph but with over 120bhp at the back wheel it was reduced to a point and squirt machine on the narrow bendy climb up to Hindhead. On reaching Hindhead I decided against Nadia, the winding road had frustrated me and the A3 beckoned, besides I didn't want a pillion.
The A3 was much better. The engine growled at last as I was finally able to open her up and get some cool air over it and me. I roared around and down past the Devils Punch bowl towards Guildford and then really let rip when the road opened up into duel carriageway. All the cars taillights seemed to streak past in some parody of the Millennium Falcon jumping to light speed as I pushed the bike hard. At Millford I decided to turn for home. Another mistake, I should have gone on to Guildford and come back via the fast Hogs Back. Ho Hum!
The junction's gone now, but back then there were some traffic lights and a Happy Eater restaurant at a cross road. I turned left behind a car. This car was SLOW. Especially after the silly speeds I had just been doing, but I just could not get past it. Oncoming traffic and parked cars seemed to be conspiring to keep me behind this tedious driver. Suddenly I saw an opening, I dropped two gears and darted forward. Once past I flicked my headlight up to high beam to see the chevrons of a tight 90 degree bend far far too close!
What happened next is not too clear. I have some very vivid memories, but it all happened so quick and I can't remember some of the bits between some of the more exciting highlights. When I saw the sign I new I was never going to make the corner. I grabbed a big handful of front break and held it until it was time to turn. I tucked the bike in, and knew false hope, I could make this... The back wheel first let go and then gripped again. The bike bucked, and the handle bars slapped savagely.
The first of my vivid memories was the very real but odd looking image of my left thumb hard up against my left arm as the grip pushed it back.
The second was a view of the front mudguard from above. The GPz was fully faired, you can't see the front wheel from the saddle, so I must of been flying over the top of the bike.
The next thing I remember was sliding along the road on my back. I was curled up fetus fashion sliding backwards. I could see the zip on my right sleeve cuff was broken, and as I slid along my jacket was getting pulled down my back and the sleeve up my arm. This was happening very quickly but I remember worrying if I would run out of jacket and start grinding my shoulder into the asphalt.
There was a bump and I stopped sliding along the road. I relaxed. I stretched out my legs and lowered my arms. Then I hit the ground! There was a chaotic bumpy moment and then I stopped for real. I lay there dazed. My first thought was, "Well that was interesting." Next I wondered if anything was broken. I wiggled arms and legs. No pain, amazing! I sat up and looked around. I could see how I'd been fooled, I'd shot off the road over a four foot bank down into a freshly harvested cornfield.
I examined myself a bit closer. There was no skin on my right forearm, the corn stubble had flayed it off. Still no pain! Both knees were bloody messes and my right foot was missing its trainer and bleeding too. I remember thinking that it was all going to hurt soon. I became aware that the bike's engine was racing. I stood up and hopped over to it, found the kill switch and turned off my bike of the last time. It looked so sad. All bent and twisted, my pride and joy. My bike was dead!
Someone called out, "Are you all right?" I turned to see a whole row of cars pulled up on the top of the bank. I had had an audience! Now don't ask me why but I replied, "I can't find my trainer!" Suddenly that seemed the most important thing to do and I started marching around the field looking for my missing shoe. My audience joined in and the field was full of a dozen or so people looking for my trainer. I was starting to get frantic at its loss, and though I was walking around I think my audience was beginning to realise that; A, I was NOT all right. and B, I was getting worse. My trainer was found and I calmed down a lot. A kind old gentleman asked me if I wanted a ride to the hospital? Everything was okay now I had my trainer, so I said no that was not necessary but could he give me a lift to a phone box so I could call the AA?
Once in the car I discovered that the driver was the person I had overtaken before the bend. He had thought I was going to make it too and then watched in horror as the bike flicked me high into the air. At that moment he said he thought I was going to die.
We get to a phone box and I called the AA. They say they will come out only if the bike is attended. The Kind Old Gentleman says he'll take me back to the bike, so I say okay to the AA. As I hang up the phone my knees buckle as the shock I'm in starts to hit home. It dawns on me that I am going to need to go to hospital after all and I can't go back to the bike. Kind Old Gentleman sees this too, and tells me so. I decide to call my parents and ask if they will go out to the crash site and wait for the AA. The first few lines of that conversation will always be with me;
"Mum I've crashed my bike!"
"Oh my God! Are you all right?"
"No."
"What?"
"No I'm not all right. I've got to go to hospital! I've lost a lot of skin, but never mind that. I need you to go to the crash site and wait for the AA."
"What!!!"
I don't know how but I talked them into it. When they got there they found the police there with sniffer dogs looking for my body! This was because as I hung up the phone on my mother I fainted a second time, and as I slid down inside the phone box the ambulance that had been called out by some other spectator drove by on a futile mission to find and take me to the A&E department. They reported me missing and the police were called out to help search for me.
K.O.G took me to the Royal Surrey in Guildford. I spent most of the journey apologizing for causing him so much trouble and bleeding in his car. Some point along this trip I started to hurt.
We get to the hospital and K.O.G goes off looking for a wheelchair as I suddenly don't want to bend my very sore knees. He comes back with a nurse who convinces me to walk into the Emergency Unit. Once inside a Sister approaches and asks me if I'm the missing Biker from Elstead? I say yes and faint again. I'm put on a trolley and wheeled into a cubical. The world stops spinning again and the nurse I was with goes to help the guy in the next booth who is dying from a bee sting!
A very young nurse then appears and tells me she has to undress me. I manage to take my jacket off rather than have her cut it. The jeans were so shredded I let her slice them off. She must have been new to the job cause she got embarrassed once I was in the buff. She helps me into one of those backless gowns and I'm on my own again.
My next visitor was a policeman. His opening line was priceless, "Okay son, where did you nick it?"
"Nick what?"
"The bike."
"It's mine, its not stolen."
"It had a false number plate."
"No I bought it from Gordon Farleys in Ash."
"What's it's number then?"
"I'm bleeding, I hurt, I can't remember."
"Well son, I can tell you that the index number on that bike was for a red ford in Newcastle."
"So what is it?"
"WPC 365 D"
"What should it be?"
"WPC 356 D"
"Hmm, I'm lying here in shock and bleeding. I think I've broken my left wrist. My right arm has no skin on it and you are hassling me over what even I can see is probably a clerical error?"
"So what happened?"
"I fell off."
"You didn't hit anyone?"
"No"
"Were you speeding?"
"I don't think so." (As it turned out I had not been.)
"Hmm, well you will be hearing from us." (I didn't, and was not prosecuted.)
Next the doctor shows up. I explain why I think my left wrist is broken. He gets a nurse to treat my arm with anesthetic jelly and sends me to x-ray. On returning to A&E the doctor informs me that the x-ray shows no fracture. I'm given my clothes and told I can leave.
Three days later I receive a post card from the hospital asking me to come back and have a cast fitted. Seems the consultant has reviewed the junior doctors x-rays and spotted the fracture I had been suffering with for the past few days.
My right arm healed up okay, though I damaged a small nerve in my wrist and a muscle in my hand wasted away. My knees are still scared, and they didn't have to graft over the hole in my right ankle that the junior doctor missed too.
The moral of this tale? Don't fall off your bike and always wear leathers!
By the way. The number plate had been made up wrong on the day the bike was sold new. It had been missed by everyone during each sale or MOT until that day. But I've often wondered how many speeding tickets the poor bloke in Newcastle got every time the cops saw me speeding. 'Coz I never got one while I was riding that bike!
PS I got billed for the ambulance even though I didn't get a ride!
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