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I didn't expect anything back.

Just me feeling guilty, blues. (And also wondering for the umpteenth time why I'm always late for everything.)

Ouch!

What do you say to a ten-year-old boy who has just stepped out into the road in front of you and forced you to lay your bike down onto the hard, hard ground? Well, I keep wondering that. And I keep wondering what would have happened if I'd hit the little bugger - as I easily could have. I missed him by all of half a centimetre and that was more by luck than judgement. There he stood, all five feet of him, quivering from head to foot and sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over?

Two blokes rushed over to me where I lay on the road and lifted the bike up off my trapped leg. I had a sudden moment of deja vu. Something very similar happened six months ago when I came down on some diesel in Truro. On that occasion I'd been unhurt, so I wasn't expecting to have any injuries this time either. I got an upleasant surprise when I stood up and experience a bolt of pain shooting up the outside of my ankle. I paced about on it experimentally. No breakages - probably -but I’d definitely twanged the three little ligaments on that side of the joint. I know those little buggers very well. They've signalled their existence to me several times before when I've taken a tumble from the bike. Fu*king bloody Ada! Then I remembered that only two days previously I’d signed up to a dance class in Royston. Funny what you think about at moments like this. I’ve always wanted to learn how to jive the French way (all that fancy footwork.) Footwork? I was still hopping around painfully. Not bloody likely. Ligaments take ages to heal.

“F*ck! Sh*t! B*llocks!” It was the most eloquent thing I could think of, and I wasn’t thinking of the jive class. I’d just seen the state of the bike as the two blokes lifted it back onto its stand for me. “F*ck! F*ck! F*ck!” The panels were smashed all down the left-hand side and bright green coolant was dripping from the bellypan. I tried to focus clearly on as much of my surroundings as I could. Blood was pounding in my ears, and adrenalin had found that tiny hole between universes and squeezed me through it. I checked the bike over as best I could, but as everything seemed to be moving in a different time zone to me, it wasn't easy. It seemed clear, though, that although the plastics were damaged everything else seemed OK: the bars, levers and indicators were not even scraped. How lucky was that? And the green coolant was probably just the excess pouring from the reservoir. (I had overfilled it the previous evening while trying to top it up without my glasses. At least that was one job I wouldn’t have to do at the weekend.)

“I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.” I slowly became aware of the kid standing behind me, rooted and unmoving. He’d seen me hopping about. He’d seen the state of the bike. He’d heard me cursing. He clearly understood he was in deep, deep, sh*t. Like me he was probably still in shock.

Well, what do you say in these circumstances? Was I angry? You bet I was. Anger came rising over me like wreckage floating on a sea of fear, embarrassment, dismay, shock, pain and a dozen other feelings to deep or fleeting for me to catch on my radar. Sh*t! Sh*t! Sh*t! The anger mounted up and passed away. That kind of complicated, out-of-control feeling is not the sort of thing you can offload onto a scared ten-year-old boy. In any case, my heart went out to him. He was really in a hell of a state. He was looking up at me, his face pleading for reassurance. At that moment the boundaries between 'thee' and 'me' disintegrated, and I was flashing back in the Manor House garden 45 years ago, facing the Major, who had just caugt me scrumping his cherries.

I might have hit and killed him, I kept thinking, or mangled him up badly. It also occurred to me, that both the bike and I could have been smashed up a hell of a lot worse than we were. I stood there for what seemed a long time looking at him - giving him a mental hug.

But I was late. In quarter of an hour I was due to be at the Holiday Inn conference centre in Stevenage. I was supposed to be there to face 30 hostile work colleages to try to win them over to a new procedure that was being introduced. Was I going to make it? Would the bike start? Where did the kid go to school? Were my leathers damaged? How bad was my foot? Should I get the bike looked over?

The kid was looking at me with those big wide eyes that dreamy kids have. And it was while I was staring at him that I noticed he had an earphone in each lughole. Ngggrrrrh! My can is not the quietest in North Herts! No wonder he hadn't heard me. The sight of the earphones finally focused me. I took a deep breath, and gave him The Talk, quietly, seriously and with as much clarity as I could muster. Now he knew first hand what could happen if he didn’t take more care on the road. He should take it as a lesson for the future. He looked at me all the while with those big sobbing eyes, nodding. He was still shaking when I left him. I didn’t want to leave him like that, but I reckoned there was little more that I could do and I had 30 people to think of.

On my way to work, I kept thinking about him. Would he tell anyone what had happened? Would he tell his parents? Or his teacher. Once the shock had worn off would he rework the story and use it to try and get some kudos or attention from his friends. I thought not. He didn’t seem that sort of boy (but who knows?) If he had been a lippy kid he might easily have tripped my switch smf caught a gobfull of rage. I'm glad he wasn't. How much good would that have done?

At the conference centre things didn’t get much better. The 30 were not in the mood for playing ball; at least they weren't until the ice was broken a little when a flip chart stand keeled over and fell on me. Well that got a laugh anyway. A member of the conference centre staff who had set up the stand rushed to the rescue. “I’m sorry”, he murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” It’s OK, I mumbled back, it’s OK.

“Did you see that?” I heard one of the 30 whispering to her neighbour, “He didn’t even flinch!”
Hah! What a laugh! If only she knew…!
“Where there is no sense, there’s no feeling,” my grandmother used to say. And her comment would have been very appropriate to the situation. By this time the adrenalin rush was beginning to wear off the shock had left me with little of either sense or feeling. I hadn't flinched because my reactions had ceased to function properly.

By lunch time blotchy red bruising began to emerge on my foot, and I got a more measured look at the bike. It was worse than I had thought. There was one long crack in the lowers and one smaller jagged one. The rear cowling was holed, and the uppers were split in two places. I did a quick estimate and arrived at a figure of £800 to replace all that plastic. There is no way, at this moment, that I can afford all that. And besides, the bike has too many miles on its clock to have much resale value so there would be no point in forking out that money anyway.

This evening I rang Dave and Straight-Line Bob over in Gamlingay, two club members who have a small motorcycle business. They knew a good plastic surgeon. I’m hoping he will be able to do a cosmetic welding job for me at a reasonable price.

****

Hi there Wolf. So sorry to hear about your accident. I confess I had to skip ahead to make sure you were okay before I read the full post in detail. Hope the ankle heals up as soon as possible. My initial reaction was, kid not hurt or dead and you mostly okay but that really sucks.

Not sure if it was the Triumph or the SV but if it was the SV there's a lot of guys on the sv forum from the UK that are either trying to buy rashed fairings for track use or selling parts. After things settle down you might have a look there to see if you can pick up some used fairings.

http://www.sv-portal.com/forums/forumdisplay.php?f=7

Hope all else in life is well. Glad to hear you're okay.

Sorry to hear about your laydown Hud... You doing alright? On the bright side, I've picked up a British bike magazine and it seems streetfighters are as popular over there as they are here, if not more so. You can always strip the plastics, put on a headlight and taillight, and go about your merry way. You also might want to check for a local bike junkyard, maybe they'll have bikes with the right side trashed and the left side untouched?

Dude! That royally sucks. Well, I don't know if this will make you feel better, but my son didn't do anything wrong and I just gave him a stern talking to about being aware of his surroundings, causing harm to others due to negligence and the possibility of dying because of maintaining a low level of awareness.

RhadamYgg

Thanks for the posts and good wishes everyone.

I sent the Daytona's fairing and tail off to a welder in the week before Easter - broken, cracked and scuffed all over. The left-hand-side and the rear cowling were heavily marked and slightly fracturted from when I came down on some diesel in Truro last year. The right-hand-side was smashed badly in four places and had some pieces missing as a result of my recent spill on a roundabout only a couple of hundred yards away from home. ( / )

The nose was also slightly scuffed but I didn't send it off for repair as I need to be careful with money right now. I can live with a few scuff marks - for a bit - until I can't any more.

The SV1000S is also off the road with siezed front brakes. It really needs the full works: new pistons, seals and discs. I'm hoping I can get away with new seals for now. So long as I can get the brakes working safely, I'll be happy, but I'll have to get everything sorted before August when the bike goes in for its MOT.

The Daytona's plastics were so badly damaged that I didn't have very high hopes that the welder could do more than a patch-up job. In fact, he has worked a near miracle. From the outside it is impossible to tell that the fairing has been repaired at all. Some of the holes and cracks ran through complex mouldings. He's restored the curves perfectly. He's also done a great job with the respray and varnish, and the new decals look brilliant. He didn't charge me an arm and a leg for the work either. I'm very pleased. The old girl is looking healthier now than she has done for the last year. Anyone in Herts, Beds, or Cambs who needs a first class plastic welder, get in touch, and I'll give you details.

There's one more job to do still. I need to deal with a nasty scratch on the clutch casing. All it needs is a matt black spray job (£10 for a can of spray paint from Halfords) and all will be well.

I spent this afternoon and early evening getting all the plastic back on the bike. There was only one small and unimportant-looking item left over when I had finished, so I now count myself as something of a competent engineer. (Actually, I would never make an engineer - I'm far, far too impatient.)

While I was working, I got to meet my new neighbours and their two dogs - two young and very friendly Staffies - one of whom was born deaf. (I seriously miss having a dog around the house.) The conversation turned quickly from dogs to bikes and almost started a domestic. The bloke casually suggested to his wife that he should get a bike, too... The rest I'll leave to your imagination. Old story!

Unfortunately, it was getting dark by the time I had finished so there was no time for a celebratory ride. I will take the bike into work tomorrow (Monday) morning, of course, but that could hardly be called a celebration, could it?

P.S. My ankle ligaments are healing remarkably fast thanks to all the frozen pea compresses and arnica cream I've been lavishing on them. They are healing so well that I've been bopping around the kitchen on them recently to Janis Martin (an early rockabilly singer from the 1950s). Boy, did she have an amazing voice: phenomenal range - a real hot rocker. I never got to see her in the flesh, but by all accounts she was a pretty raunchy performer -the female Elvis, they called her.

Have you been to Guernsey? I'm reading the Guernesy Litererary and Potato Peel Pie Society.

What is the weather in England like late September/early October?

blues2cruise wrote:Have you been to Guernsey? I'm reading the Guernesy Litererary and Potato Peel Pie Society.

What is the weather in England like late September/early October?

Hiya blues.

No, never been there, but lots of people holiday in the Channel Islands and love them. Guernsey is our Quebec: full of French-speaking Brits, as I'm sure you realise. I'm told the "Potato Peel Pie" is a very good read.

Mid- to late-September is generally regarded as the end of the biking season in the UK - by Sunday riders, at least. But late September and even early October can still be pleasantly warm and autumnal, though it's not guaranteed.

By mid-October the best of the year is over. The nights are drawing in and the weather is cloudier and colder. November is all frost and fog and time to get the open fire going in the living room.

Autumn sounds perfect.