From Bantam boy to Speedtwin tearaway: part 4
In this part of his memoir, Peter Jenkins recalls how it nearly all ended one night, and has a brief flirtation with a Speed Triple.
On the way home from work on the dark and wet night of January 13, 1993, I hit a poorly sited and badly lit ‘midi’ skip. Dazzled by the headlights of oncoming vehicles overtaking parked cars, I saw the skip just in time for “this is going to hurt” to flash through my mind.
The next thing I knew, I came to, lying in the road on the other side of the skip, and, of course, tried to get up – as you do – but found that I couldn’t. Both arms flapped about uselessly, there was a nasty crunching sensation in my left hip, and my left leg wouldn’t work. I don’t remember feeling pain; being in shock is a helpful natural response.
The main thing I was concerned about was getting my full-face helmet off so I could breathe better, it felt very claustrophobic. Firemen from the Poynton station were first on the scene, and I managed, eventually, to persuade one to take the helmet off me (against the rules), by waggling my head wildly in all directions to prove I’d not broken my neck. I only use a helmet with a flipup front now.
The road was blocked for an hour while the ambulance crew scraped me up and I imagined I had been very brave until one of the ambulance crew came to see me on the ward a couple of weeks later – he said he’d never heard anyone scream like I did when they lifted me onto the stretcher. I don’t remember that bit.
I woke in hospital trussed up in bed with both arms tied up in the air and my left leg in traction. I soon learnt to lose my dignity; I had to be fed by nurses for a couple of weeks and lifted onto a bedpan by four strong people. I soon became ‘institutionalised’ and quite enjoyed being looked after and having no responsibilities – I was quite put out when told that I was fit enough to wipe my own bum: “That’s not my job,” I said.
Responsibilities
The experience was much harder for my lovely wife Chris; she was a busy working mum with three young children and now had all the responsibilities and the extra job of visiting me, usually once a day.
She had help from friends and family with babysitting but I don’t know how she managed so well. Chris would often bring a flask of real coffee for us to share – kind nurses would push my bed into a spare room to give us some privacy. I wasn’t ill, just strapped up and unable to get out of bed, so my bed space became home.
A friend sent me a large poster of Ogri which was stuck on the wall, and other friends would bring cans of beer in for me. Orthopaedic wards could be quite cheerful places, I made friends with men about my own age in the adjacent beds, and we took a lively interest in the life of the ward.
The lad in the next bed explained how the traction pin had been taken out of his tibia, which was fortunate as I could then advise a junior doctor on how it was done – he was about to go and get a hammer to tap the pin out when I said: “I think you’ll find it screws out.”
After two months I was out of bed and starting to walk again on gutter crutches, and then home again (quite emotional) after a total of 10½ weeks away.
I returned to work soon afterwards on crutches, borrowing an automatic car so I could drive myself. The bike was written off again and I bought it back from the insurance company for the
second time (is this a record?). I rebuilt it again and got it back on the road before the anniversary of the accident. I rode very carefully for a while, but eventually the painful memories faded and I returned to my normal way of riding.
I employed a firm of solicitors to seek compensation from the builders and the skip hire company, for lost pay etc resulting from the injuries sustained in the accident, and, after many reports and investigations over five years, I settled for a reasonable amount. I could have pursued the matter in court to try to increase the amount but I’d read of a case where a moped rider had hit a skip and the judge didn’t award any damages, saying he should have been more careful.
Compensation
A lot of the money was used wisely, but I did indulge myself; the five of us went on a holiday to Barbados, I got my PPL (Private Pilot’s Licence), an ambition dating back 25 years, and I bought a lovely black 1996 Triumph Speed Triple. This was the most modern bike I had owned and I was in love with the way it looked and performed. Of course, I kept the old Triumph, I couldn’t part with a member of the family, and continued to use it for work.
The Speed Triple was fun but not too practical or comfortable for long trips. Also, I realised that I was going to have a nasty accident if I continued to ride it as fast as I did, so, after about 18 months, I decided to sell. Experience has shown me that I can have as much fun on an old bike at 65mph, as on a new bike at 95mph, and with less chance of killing myself.
Sod’s law, no one seemed interested in buying the Speed
Triple and, after a few fruitless adverts, I eventually traded it in with a dealer and got a 1961 Triumph Thunderbird, and enough money for a family holiday in exchange.
I’d always wanted a pre-unit 650, so I was pleased with the Thunderbird’s power and torque. It wasn’t in standard trim, having 1968 forks and front wheel and no ‘Bathtub’ but
I’ve never been a purist. It seemed like a good idea to join the Triumph Owners’ Club as I now had two old ones, so I signed up in 1999.
The best things for me about the club are the excellent magazine and the yearly ‘Landmark’ rally.
This requires finding 50 locations throughout the UK from the grid reference and a cryptic clue and then photographing the bike at the site to prove that it’s been there. The rally is a great reason to get lots of miles done and to discover loads of interesting places you’ve never heard of. I really enjoy planning routes and finding great roads, and ever since I joined, Chris and I have done 15 to 25 clues a year (even in this Covid-blighted one). I try to use ‘B’ roads and minor roads whenever possible, particularly when out in rural Wales, Scotland and Yorkshire. Very smart enamel badges (gold, silver and bronze) are awarded, depending on how many Landmark photos are collected.
I also joined the local Poynton Motorcycle Club. It had interesting meetings, and I managed to keep up with the modern bikes on ride outs but I was always the only rider on an old British bike, so I was only a member for two years. A great thing to come from membership was a Cheshire Police ‘Ride Safe’ course. This was an excellent course, with two evening classroom sessions and an hour or so one-toone with an instructor on the road. Anticipation, hazard awareness and good road position were all taught very well – you’re never too old to learn.
About this time, I went on a factory visit arranged by a local dealer to Triumph, at Hinckley, so I’ve visited both factories now (the original Priory Street works was before my time). It was great to see the ultramodern production line assembling lots of different models on the same line with a computer-organised supply of parts. It’s very sad that most bikes are now made in the Far East.
Ireland tour
Chris and I did an eight-day tour round Ireland on the old Thunderbird in 2005. We got to Holyhead in plenty of time and chatted to other motorcyclists in the queue for the ferry. When the time came to board, the bike wouldn’t start and we had to push it up the ramp – bloody thing! I checked it over on the ferry and couldn’t find a fault and it started and went fine after that little gremlin. We had a lovely trip; Ireland is a more relaxed place and people seem to have more time to stop and talk.
Nearly every time we stopped in a town someone would start to chat, about the bike usually – “I had one of those 40 years ago, etc” …. and quite often they were sober! (joke!)
We rode round the Ring of Beara in the beautiful south west and stopped at the top of the Healy Pass to admire the views in all directions. A farmer who we had passed on the way up turned round and came back especially to talk to us – we learnt his life story and must have chatted for half an hour.
The weather was surprisingly hot and sunny for six days and we melted in our wet weather gear while visiting a lot of the usual tourist sights like Blarney Castle and the Cliffs of Moher.
We stayed at B&Bs usually but for two nights treated ourselves to a posh hotel near Cavan. While on a ride from there the heavens opened and torrential rain came down so fast that the water was deep enough to hide a brick in the road. We hit it hard and dented the front wheel rim, luckily the tyre didn’t blow and we stayed on the bike.
The new bike gear in which we’d been sweltering all week wasn’t as waterproof as we’d expected and when we got back to the hotel we dripped our way back to our room through a fancy wedding party – no one minded a bit, it was Ireland after all.
We were sorry when we had to return home, there was a lot more we wanted to see.
NEXT MONTH: Spotting landmarks and goodbye to the Thunderbird.