Tales of Whoa! Pt.1.

A few years ago, quite a few years now, I first thought of writing about my humorous experiences involving crashing, or other disasters I had, whilst riding motorcycles. With the advent of this blog, it seems only right and proper to publish those tales and to finish writing them down. So, here goes:

Road-rash: the first time.                               

This “mighty” part-work (Not published by DaGonystini and not lasting 99 months and not costing more than the Encyclopaedia Brittanica.) will recount the tales involved in a life of biking in and around the environs of Sussex, Hampshire and Dorset in the 80s. Those who know me will recognise some or all of these tales; those who don’t will still probably have a bloody good laugh and/or think “What a prat!” To both groups of people, I simply say “Enjoy!”

My first experience of crash..., I mean riding, a bike was at school. I wasn’t lucky enough to own a Ducati at 17 (someone was!) or even a Super Dream. In fact I didn’t own a bike at all but my mother owned a Mobylette moped. So did a mate at school, whom I convinced to let me borrow it, just for a quick ride out. I had my ride and was coming back from the extreme end of King’s Barn Lane in Steyning and took the sharp right-hand bend at speed; needless to say, too much speed. Down I went, still trying to keep this moped upright. When everything stopped moving, I got up and thought, “Oh dear me, my shoulder hurts.”, ‘coz I was a nice lad in those days and didn't swear, and struggled to pick up the moped and get it on it’s stand. In fact, I couldn’t actually move my arm very well and had to place my right hand on the throttle using my left hand. After much struggling to get the moped started and gingerly riding it back to the school, I went in to return the crash helmet and actually managed to convince one of the teachers that I had slipped down the stairs and needed to go to hospital. (And to him, I owe a great big apology for conning him and a big "Thank You" for falling for it.) There I found out that I had dislocated my shoulder, so an anaesthetic, popping the shoulder back in and 4 weeks in a sling ensued.

Footnote.

Whether you believe in fate, Karma or whatever, I don’t know but a week later my mother was nearly killed on her Mobylette. The largest piece of the moped we got back was the tyre pump, she was hit that hard.