Talking Frankly

“I remember falling and a flash of pain in my head. I was knocked unconscious”

Don’t ever go off-road on your own. I bet I’ve written – and said – those words hundreds of times over the years. It’s just a shame I don’t practise what I preach. Let me explain...

It wasn’t really “off-road” as such. It was a track through a field, possibly once Roman, boasting a very good surface of large stones. Surrounded by peat, I’m guessing at a floating raft of branches, like most of the Roman roads that you find over the moors.

It was also less than a mile from my house, which is on a Roman road: hence my educated guess at what I was venturing onto. The surface was unbroken because Jim the farmer has never needed to take a heavy tractor up it. Nothing much more than an A35 van – the farm vehicle of choice up until the mid 1950s – after which it was well traversed by Land Rovers of all shapes and sizes. It’s basically moorland where sheep roam and every now and again he takes some food up to them.

All that aside, there is an incredible view across Lancashire when you get to the top. Indeed, the wife and I have walked up there to take the odd picnic and, although I’ve never seen it myself, people often claim they can see Blackpool Tower on a clear day.

This wasn’t a clear day. It was early March, chilly and with wisps of cloud. It was late afternoon and the sun had started to sink, but what a beautiful sight it was to behold. I just had to get a photograph. From the road there were cables and rooftops in the way however. I knew Jim wouldn’t mind, so I opened the gate and drove through in my Range Rover L322.

It’s a steepish climb from the road, but not really far, just a couple of seconds. I parked on a hollowed-out spot – note, just, but only just, out of sight of the road, and hopped out of the Rangie. My camera was on the back seat so I would reach in to get it from the rear door.

Next thing, I remember a flash of pain in my left leg, falling and another flash of pain in my head. I guess I was knocked unconscious by the second flash but I have no idea for how long.

I woke up lying five or six feet from my motor, driver’s door still open. I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t even get onto my knees – my left was in agony. I then attempted to crawl to the car and pull myself up. I couldn’t manage that either. The leg didn’t even want to be dragged behind me, the knee wouldn’t bend and the pain was tremendous. And I know a thing or two about pain, having had a few heart attacks.

I wasn’t wearing a jacket and it was getting very cold. To top it off I was completely hidden from the road, so nobody could see the car, and I was a good few feet from it, which ironically was packed full of safety and survival equipment. I might as well be miles away from anywhere.

Then it dawned on me: my mobile phone. It was in a holster on my belt – doh. Now, don’t ask why I didn’t immediately ring for an ambulance. My first phone call was to Jim. He sensibly rang the emergency services and moved my motor for me while they sorted me out.

I spent just one night in the lovely Royal Blackburn Infirmary where the head wound, which they assumed was caused from smacking it on a rock when I fell, was stuck together with superglue while my knee was pronounced, rather bizarrely, fine. A very nice doctor explained to me that I was to think of it as like a dislocation but not a dislocation and it was back in place now. Sure enough it wasn’t hurting any more, but I’m now frightened to death to lead anywhere with my left leg, just in case.

So, don’t go off-road on your own.

The ink had hardly dried on the May 2017 issue of LRM when my mate Ian Rawlings was talking about the piece I wrote last month. I said that there were many reasons for Land Rovers to be made from lots of different vehicles but that nobody ever says they are nicked.

Interestingly Ian’s latest project (he has a G-WAC among others) started when he bought a 200Tdi, five- door Discovery shell thinking that he had bought a three- door. The shell (he has been told) was a stolen, recovered, vehicle with 15,000 miles. It then sat in a shed for 20 years. It’s now going on a G-reg three- door chassis that he had intended to scrap. Over the next coming months he needs to find an interior, engine and gearbox to build the ideal expedition motor. Goodness knows where that lot will come from!

As for the bloke who emailed asking me what is wrong with wanting to own a Jag... words fail me. Well, not really, I simply told him to read it again.