Went out for what should have been a short trip. Came across a really long traffic queue that was crawling very very slowly. It was that slow pretty much the only movement was coming from cars turning around. Then we saw the flashing blues. Getting closer we could see the police directing the traffic down side streets which were small and very congested. As it happened we got to the front of the queue when we were told to stop by one of the police. Then another police car arrived, then another, then more traffic being directed past us – so without needing to rubberneck we got a good look at the scene. It was a motorbike rider. Now on stretcher of sorts, surrounded – and I do mean surrounded, there were at least 6 – paramedics and ambulance staff, loads of police, at least 1 damaged car and a lot of spectators. His motorbike was shattered. I don’t mean scratched, I don’t mean the fairing was cracked, I don’t mean it had slid a bit. I do mean that there was barely anything left to identify it as a bike. I’ve seen a few broken things but never so much destruction in such a small place. And he was alive. Damaged hugely no doubt, but he was alive. And all this happened on a regular road with a 40 speed limit. Amazing.
My Dad always said I could not have a motorbike. He said that people died on motorbikes. I always corrected him on that point – they died not on the bike, but when they hit the ground at huge speeds. And strangely enough that’s just how I nearly died in 1990 …..