Saturday, January 27, 2007

Ramble from Ze

Goody. I don't have to come up with words. Enjoy.
How Not to Ride a Motorcycle Lesson One - The Bungy

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Notes. Last October I wrote this small recollection of my very first motorcycle accident intending to send it in as a ramble. It was a funny accident, nobody was hurt and even the bike was relatively unscathed. However less than two weeks after writing this I was involved in another accident. This new one was not my fault and was fairly horrific. The bike was totalled and I was seriously injured. I'm recovering but it's a long, slow and painful road to recovery. Naturally it didn't seem appropriate to post this story right then. But it's too good a story not to share and now I'm recovering well, my bike will eventually be repaired, the pain is manageable and I will work again it feels ok to let you all have a read. So - without further ado I give you - The Bungy.
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'Twas Brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble...well actually it was a brilliant summer evening; the sun was shining brightly so I'd no excuse at all. I'd put my bike into gear and my brain into neutral. And I'd still like to know who half-inched my baked beans.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It was... a number of years ago... and no, I'm not going to be more specific. I was the proud owner of my very first motorcycle. A sweet little 175cc BSA Bantam. Well, me and the finance company owned it together. Six weeks of ownership and I was tootling to and from work on it and feeling very pleased with myself over how quickly I'd picked up the skill of riding.

What's that old proverb about pride??

I needed a few things from the supermarket and since I was working nearby I picked them up in my lunch-break. Sainsbury's didn't have any boxes handy (my preferred method of transporting shopping at the time) so I put everything into a carrier bag & returned to work.

Five o'clock and time to go home. I plonked the bag onto the rack at the back of the bike and bungied it in place with two elderly but serviceable bungies. I had a choice of routes home, both of them of course crossing the river. There was the 'old' road, narrow and winding and going through two villages or the new 'A' road - a modern long highway-come-bridge resembling the road that links the Florida Keys. Flash and concrete and edged with bean-sized railings on either side.

Bean-sized?? I hear you ask. Never fear gentle reader, continue, all will be revealed.

Anyway, there I was speeding across the long bridge in the direction of home when the bridge jumped into the air, flew over my head and landed behind me. At least, that was my initial impression as I lay there staring at the sky. A moment or two of calmer reflection brought the realisation that it was I who had done the somersault; bike going one way, me another and shopping a third. The bag distributed its contents far and wide.

Baked beans bounce!!

Well my tin did anyway. Twice. Before slipping neatly through the gap in the railings to disappear in a suicide plunge into the foamy depths below as I watched, helpless and horrified.

A loud squealing noise ripped my attention from the tragedy of my drowning dinner to take note of my immediate surroundings. I found myself admiring the pattern of tread on a tyre directly behind me. Don't buses seem to have big wheels when you're underneath them?? The humour of the situation hit me at this point and I dissolved into helpless laughter. Now nobody will ever be able to accuse me of having a lady-like laugh so the sound I made must have convinced the driver that I had been crushed and was howling in agony as he descended from his cab, sat down and proceeded to have a quiet nervous breakdown in the middle of the road.

The situation deteriorated further still with the arrival of a (very) young policeman who obviously entertained dreams of making a name for himself as the hero of a gory road accident. He was most disappointed to find me completely unhurt. But I think he thought I'd completely lost my marbles when I started climbing over the railings on the bridge. I tried to tell him that I just wanted to rescue my beans but he insisted on wresting me down from my 'suicide attempt', using far too much force and almost killed the pair of us by catapulting us underneath a truck.

By the time I'd convinced him I wasn't a grief-stricken lunatic trying to drown myself and soothe the poor truck driver who was softly weeping on the kerb, a kindly motorist had stopped, picked up the bike, gathered the remains of my shopping, found a small box to put it in and discovered the reason for my abrupt halt and abortive flying lesson.

One of the bungies had given up the ghost, the worn end by the hook had snapped loose and tension had done the rest. It had spun around on its other hook and carefully entangled itself in my rear wheel. It wasn't much use after that, resembling as it did a badly-gnawed grass snake.

By this time, surprisingly only about five minutes at most, traffic was starting to jam up behind us and drivers were becoming impatient. The young bobby decided that since nobody needed rescuing that he'd better clear the road. So I was persuaded to (reluctantly) abandon my beans and continue my journey home. It was a slow few miles because I had to keep stopping to laugh.

I went back the following morning to check and my beans were gone!! Cockles and whelks don't eat beans and can't use a tin-opener anyway so what I want to know is...who pinched my beans!!

Ze


Another thing to add to the shrine.... Take a little bit of time to thank Ze for rambling and enjoy the updates.

Tamara

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