G’DAY, HOW’S IT GOING? HOPE YOU’RE WELL?

Did you know that the first ever speeding ticket was issued in 1896 to a driver in Kent for going four times the legal speed limit. Yep, that’s right – four times! The driver was going the breakneck pace of 8mph - the speed limit was 2mph.

As we’ve all no doubt said many times over the years, riding bikes’s one of the best things in the world. Bikes de-stress you, pick you up when you’re down, make you friends just about anywhere, and give you a common link with, literally, millions of people around the world. They’re the best therapist, the best psychologist, they’re what keep many of us on the straight and narrow in these trying times.

We shouldn’t forget, though, that they’re dangerous, too – a fact that was demonstrated to me last month on a trip up t’north from the flatlands of East Anglia. I was happily trotting along a main road in Derbyshire, one which has a bit of a reputation for taking no prisoners, on my way somewhere, when I came up behind an L-plated kiddie on a Chinese scooter. I think, although

I have no proof obviously, he saw me behind him and, as we all do, increased his speed, probably even unconsciously – not the wisest thing to do, perhaps, on a notoriously slippery road in the depths of winter.

And, sure enough, a couple of bends later he lost the front and went down hard with a bang that I heard from where I was. He rolled over a few times, and the scooter sailed across the road on its side, coming to rest in the undergrowth on the other verge. ‘F**k!’ I thought, and braked to a halt, putting me hazards on to alert other traffic, and ran across to him. He was in a bad way, I could see – his only bike gear was his helmet; he was wearing an anorak, trackie bottoms, little white socks and trainers, and no gloves, and he’d lost most of the skin off his hands, and off great sections of his legs too, and he had massive scrapes and acres of gravel rash across his back and stomach where his jacket’d lifted but, worst of all, his thigh bone’d snapped and part of it was poking through his skin just above his knee. There was a hell of a lot of blood, a hell of a lot – definitely the worst injuries I’ve ever seen by a long way.

Under the trees in that deep valley I had no signal on me ‘phone but, thankfully, the bloke in the next car along did have network coverage and was able to call an ambulance. He also had a couple of thick blankets in his car, and we were able to cover matey, and direct traffic around him, trying to keep him reassured that the ambulance was on its way, and awake, too. It took over an hour for the ambulance to get there, but they finally got him loaded in and took off, sirens screaming, blue lights lighting up the walls of the valley, and car matey and I could carry on with our respective journeys. I was an hour-and-a-half late for my job, and that meant I did the last hour-and-a-bit of my journey home after dark (something I try not to do as my night vision’s dreadful these days). It took two washes, too, to get the blood out of me combats, and a few days later I’m still seeing the crash in dreams, although hopefully that’ll fade as time goes by.

Now, I’m not going to preach to you about what and what not to do when it comes to biking ’cos (a) it’s not my place to, and (b) you’re big enough and old enough to make decisions for yourself, but do one thing for me. Wear the gear, eh? I don’t want to go through that again, and I’d rather other people didn’t have to either, know what I mean?

See you next month!