But they say that it looked good!
By Alan De La Mare
“Back’s OK … Neck’s OK … What the hell happened?”
With those three thoughts in my head, in that order, an extremely enjoyable ride to Karamea had come to a sudden end!
Having by then discovered that I was lying face down in a water, I got to my feet. Ouch! that ankles a bit sore….. Where’s the Wing? I looked over to my left, put out a hand and almost touched the Wing. It was lying on its side, but pointing back the way we had come from!
Jeez, but the old shoulder’s feeling sore too!
I clambered out of the stream, (for that is where I was), dripping wet, covered with duckweed and water-cress and tried to get my head around just what had actually happened.
AND PEOPLE ARRIVED! What an amazing sight that was. To find myself standing on a grass roadside verge, and to see people coming who I knew would help me. I just knew then that I was going to be OK. Brent, ever the person in control, took me under his wing (no pun intended!). Sat me down, (although I knew that I was OK!) asked me how I was… stupid question! … looked at my elbow, (nothing wrong with that I knew), Ouch that hurt! I decided that a sit-down was just what I needed. Helmet came off, (funny that… no-one touched it at all!) “WOW… what the hell happened?” I asked.
Nobody offered an opinion. Good that. No half-blown ideas to circumnavigate my brain.
“S…! that ankle hurts… pretty swollen outer side, came up quick too! Possibly broken Fib(ula) there, better keep an eye on it.”
Some-how, my camera had survived, (sitting on the top-box bag, in the middle of the stream they told me later) so I gave it to Gazza and asked him to get a picture or two of the Wing.
Brent took me over the road to his Wing and first-aid kit to get something to cover the grazed, dirty, bleeding elbow. Hurt, but feels better once it’s covered. “How did that happen? Don’t know.. Oh yes, the sleeve was pushed up when I was in the creek!”
Great how much help the gear was. Well worth the money… no real damage to me. OK, maybe I’ll need to replace the jacket. The armour is buckled. Must have taken a hiding, but I’m OK. Bruised but not battered. Skin mainly intact and still on me! Boots stood up well… still intact… and on.
Brand new gloves.. especially for this run..,. torn, but my fingers and hands are not damaged.. no skin missing, I can still open my zip on my own… trousers are torn. Hey… but I’m OK! Watch strap broken, but caught up in the sleeve, I find out later.
Meantime across the road, a bunch of people was pulling the broken Wing out of the creek that it was in.
Thoughts fly through the old brain box when this sort of thing happens.
Talk about mates… no standing about here. A job needs doing, so they got stuck in and did it.
Someone went across to the near-by pub (The Pines Tavern) and organised a tow trailer. (and a glorious cup of coffee!).
Some people were getting all my gear collected together. Funny that. I never saw it scattered around the area at all. Bits of broken plastic were gathered together, traffic control was managed to stop people getting hit, People kept on asking me “How are you?” “Are you OK?” “Can you manage?” Sure I’m ok … I think. That ankle is just a sprain … I think.
All this expressed concern is really great. People are also worried about the rider. We always talk and joke about the bike coming first, and we probably mean it in a lot of ways, but people matter, and to be the subject of that concern is a heartwarming position to be in.
Boy! that trusty old Wing, that what is now just a pile of useless metal with a bit of plastic hanging onto it, looked after me. It was big, it was heavy, it was built like the proverbial brick latrine. And it looked after me. It absorbed such an incredible amount of energy from the prang.
Half a tonne of machine, travelling at around 40kph, hit a solid wall (well, a railway sleeper and rail) and it stopped… dead.. the amount of kinetic energy involved had to go somewhere. The Wing took it, sure, it buckled, it bent, it twisted, it flew, it bent metal. But it took it. Me… I flew fairly gently I believe, through the air, I must have twisted because my helmet has now got scratch marks going in two different directions. I sprained a thumb, I bruised a shoulder, I grazed an elbow, I probably wrenched my neck a bit, it turned out that I broke the right fibula, clean break, no displacement or movement, should heal up well in 6 weeks.
The amount of kinetic energy left over, after the Wing absorbed most of it, wasn’t enough to cause too much damage to me. Probably a slow speed tumble through the air, not a hard and fast arrow driven into the railway line.
Jeez, I’m lucky… Lucky that I survived it. Lucky that I walked away from it. Lucky that Jeanette wasn’t on the back. Lucky that I missed the pole, Lucky that … and the list goes on and on and on.
You know, the day was so neat. Started with a meeting at Finnimore castle on Wednesday evening. Moved on to the ferry wharf where we all tried to cram into a weigh-bridge shed measuring about two by two metres, and half full of equipment. On to the Arahura and off on a sailing that even Ray couldn’t complain about. A feed and a bit of a sleep to set up for the rest of the day.
That absolutely magic ride through the Wairau valley, with the full moon hanging just above the snow-covered hill tops. The road taking us, twisting and undulating along the valley, now above the river mist holding tightly to the floor, now dropping down into that same mist, feeling the dampness but not getting wet. The brilliantly clear sky above and the ethereal moonlight lighting our way. The taillights of the Wings ahead, twisting and turning, rising and falling as they led us ever onwards. The headlights of those following, flashing across the valley, lighting the hillside. Altogether, that morning was one to recall in our dotage, to remember with pleasure as one that was really ‘out of the box’. Never mind the cold that bit through ones clothing with fangs of steel, nor the frightening realisation, as the morning light lifted, that the paddocks were covered in frost (did that mean that the roads had ice on them?). Like pain, the mind can over-ride those negatives, with the huge positive of riding with true friends at such a time.
Breakfast at Murchison. The roadhouse that opened up early to feed us, a roaring great fire, hastily lit to thaw us out, grumbles about the cold, but a realisation that we had all had one of those ‘rides to talk about’. And what a breakfast, piled plates, unlimited toast and coffee, just what a bunch of hungry wingers needed to keep us all going. On through the lightening morning, warmer now, but never quite losing the magic of that early ride. A break in Westport, comfort stop for some, fuel stop for some, meal stop for most, and on to Karamea.
What a morning, cruising with a great bunch of guys and a gal, no need to hurry, we had all day to get there if we wanted it. Never having been on this road before, and having a chance to see another bit of our beautiful country, I at least, was content to cruise and to enjoy what-ever the day had to offer.
And then it happened… a bend… 35kph posted speed… what happened? I don’t know! Come on love, come round, a bit more countersteer, button off just a bit to get more front- end grip, where’s the side of the road… come round…?
Post-script:
The rest of the 2000 Wing in Spring was just as meaningful. Brent, who took me on to Karamea, and then from Karamea to Kaikoura and on to Picton; expecting to ride solo, but ending up with a co-rider and who made no complaints. The fellow Wingers who carried my gear from the Wing. No complaints, they just got stuck in and helped out as they could. Those fellow Wingers who carried Jeanette at and from Kaikoura. The people who took my washing to the motel reception for laundering, who carried my bags for me, who helped me when it was sore, who offered painkillers and anti-inflammatory’s, who fetched and carried as they saw the need, who genuinely meant it when they expressed concern and sorrow, who made us laugh, who were real friends.
To all these real people, please, please accept my very, very grateful thanks. I won’t name people, because I will miss someone out, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. You all know who you are, and my heartfelt gratitude goes out to you all.
To all club members may I say that, to me, this spill of mine has proven beyond any doubt at all what this Club of ours is all about. People helping people with, and out of, a common interest. My unwavering thought throughout this time has been that without the GoldWing Riders Club of New Zealand, things would have been so much different, and so much harder for us to cope with.
To ALL club-members, ….. THANK YOU!
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