Spanish Rally 2010. Part 2.
Day Five. Friday 9th July.
So far it had been one of those days that make you feel glad to be alive. After an organised rally ride and a lunch stop, a few of us had decided to take a trip into the mountains and the roads were beyond all expectation. The twists and turns around the sheer and sometimes overhanging rock faces were relentless and now and again a stone, some of which were the size of a fist had fallen into the road and now lay in our path, threatening to catch me out as I followed Bernd on his Dominator. I was totally locked in to enjoyment mode as I swung the bike through rights and lefts with hardly a straight piece of road traversed in the last ten minutes. It was just possible to use both sides of the road in some bends to straighten things out a little. One moment we were riding between rock faces and the next instant one side of the road would disappear and be replaced by a sheer drop with a river far down in the bottom of the valley.
We had ridden up in to the mountains about an hour earlier and enjoyed coffees sat outside a cafe in the sun shine. The atmosphere was tremendous. A bunch of Norton owners on a rally and having a good time. For me getting to the cafe had been an interesting experience as before embarking on the rally I had fitted a PW3 camshaft to my 750cc engine and it had suddenly come into its own. At low speeds and on steep inclines I had noticed that if I cracked open the throttle the engine reacted like a single on steroids. We had caught up with a truck half way up the mountain and with seemingly no straight road ahead I realised that I was going to have to use a fist full of throttle in a very short distance and from a grindingly low speed to get past.
The truck ground into yet another low gear as we rounded a sharp bend and I chose my moment. I had already checked the road ahead as it was possible to see up the winds and twists and gauge the probable meeting points of any traffic coming the other way. I hauled back on the throttle and with a crackling grunt the bike burst into life. I accelerated past the truck with what was probably a stupid grin on my face and for the first time I decided that the extra noise caused indirectly by the cam was probably offset by the increase in engine response. You have to understand that one of the things that I really enjoyed about my Commando was the noise it made. On a standard cam and with the stainless silencers I had inherited with the bike it had made a burbling noise that I had yet to hear repeated by another Commando.
Anyway, we were now on our way back down the mountain with me in the middle of the group, Handycam attached to the handle bars and filming the action ahead. I had started filming as we left the cafe and decided to keep the camera rolling all the way back down to the day's earlier lunch stop. Chris Grimmett had gone ahead to take photographs of us as we passed by, and here he was, in a good spot. There was no time to wave to the camera as we swept in to the next bend and onward down the rock infested road. Through a series of tunnels and alongside the river, through some woods with the sunlight slanting in beams through the trees and across the road until eventually we arrived again at the bottom of the mountain feeling like we had just had the ride of our lives.
After a short rest at the lunch stop a bunch of us decided to head back to the rally camp site together and here we were once again struggling in to our bike gear and manoeuvring our bikes in to position. I started my Commando and sat astride her waiting for someone else to take the lead. For no particular concrete reason that I can offer, I don't like riding up front, though I feel that when riding in a group it seems to me to be a waste of the whole exercise to be at the front. You might as well be on your own. I prefer to be at the back where I can look out for any problems and stop quickly if help is needed or race ahead if the group need to be warned of problems behind. By now all the bikes were busy ticking over and like in some comedy film everyone just sat and stared at everyone else staring at everyone else. I stared at everyone in turn and in turn everyone stared at me. In exasperation it occurred to me that we could carry this on until tea time, so reluctantly I engaged first gear and slowly pulled out on to the road on a path that would unbeknown to me, lead to disaster.
Although this part of the journey was not as tortuous as it was on the mountain stretch, it still needed full concentration. I had taken a good look at the map earlier and was confident that I knew the way back to the camp site. In fact there were many memorable sights along the way and the route was relatively easy to remember so there was unlikely to be any directional problems. We carefully threaded our way through some loose surfaced and stony road works that included a short bridge over a river and we were on our way again. At a junction in a small town we spotted more Nortons and pulled in when we realised that the riders were also on their way back to the camp site. The expanded group got underway once again and with only some eight or nine miles to do I was starting to look forward to chilling out for the evening with a well earned beer.
We rode out of the town and looking in my mirror at the line of bikes behind me, it occurred to me that I should be at the back filming the ride. Never mind, not far to go and I'll be able to get these boots off. The country road once again began to wind and sweep through a series of twists and bends, but by now it had become a good deal flatter. I sharpened my concentration and began to check the road ahead for any oncoming vehicles that had not reached the next set of 'S' bends in front of me. Satisfied that I could go into the next bend without meeting anything coming the other way, I switched my concentration to the task in hand. That was the moment when I realised that it was all about to go horribly wrong. For a mere second too long I had been checking out the wrong thing and now I was headed in to the next left hand bend going too fast.
It is amazing how time slows down when personal disaster looms up in front of you and threatens your life. I seemed to have time to weigh up various scenarios and come to all sorts of conclusions and I remember thinking. 'Don't bottle it, just push on the left side handlebar and the bike will see you through'. I pushed and I realised that I could probably push until the cows come home, but I was in fact not going to make it around the bend. And that was when my brain suddenly and unconsciously connected with my right hand. I'm sure that I already had the back brake on and so it was that the whole plot slid out from under me.
I can't remember going over, but I hit the road with my left shoulder and suddenly realised that the next thing to contact the road would probably be my brand new Arai helmet. How I managed to minimise the scuff to my helmet I don't know, but I felt it graze the road and managed to lift my head in time to prevent any major damage. The bike fell on my left thigh, though the handle bars and the foot rests prevented the full weight of the bike doing any serious damage. At that point as I prayed that there was nothing coming the other way, the bike and I parted company. I slid to a stop on the right side of the road and although I didn't see it happen, my pride and joy continued at undiminished speed in a straight line until she slammed into an Armco support upright. The point of contact with the Armco was the front wheel and unfortunately due to the laws of Physics after the wheel stopped the rest of the bike tried to keep going.
I lay in the road wondering if the bike following me would be able to stop in time and strangely I realised that I didn't feel as bad as I once did after coming off a bicycle. That had really smashed the wind out of me when I went over the back of the bike on a ridiculously steep climb, hit the ground and slid backwards into a pit head first with the bike on top of me.
Now, lying prone on the deck and doing a systems check before I made any further movements I was aware of other riders rushing to help. I heard Chris curse as he approached and I realised instantly that I had just ruined his day as I possibly wouldn't now be riding back to the UK with him. After another couple of seconds I decided that I should be OK to attempt verticality and as I scrambled to my feet I noticed my bike pouring fuel out of the tank and on to the road. I suddenly visualised oil and battery acid all over the place and my concern galvanised everyone into picking the bike up. I noticed that I was limping and the pain hit home. So did the realisation of what I had just managed to do and I was mortified. This was a scenario I had played out in my mind on various occasions; thinking of all the problems that having an accident abroad might conjure up. It was obvious that the Commando was a mess and I wouldn't be riding it any further for at least the rest of the day. I sat despondent on the Armco as my bike was dragged closer to the side of the road. The front wheel was so twisted that it couldn't turn between the forks. My despondency began to mix with shame and embarrassment as concerned people I knew rode past and asked if we needed help. I cursed as Wheelrim hoved in to view. That was all I didn't need. I now knew that I could expect a slagging off at some time in the future, (Roadholder letters 277), but I also knew that he would be as concerned as everyone else. We shouted some friendly abuse at each other and my world turned back to a pile of knackered Norton as he rode off down the road having been assured that I would live for at least another thirty minutes.
I suppose that my main question was. 'Why me'? Of all the people on the rally; 'Why me'?
As I sat dejectedly on the Armco and seemingly everyone else's world but mine continued to be of no great concern, I watched while the rescue trailer arrived so quickly that I wondered if it had been following us at a discreet distance. My bike was dragged onboard and strapped down after which I clambered painfully into the 4x4 and was treated to a somewhat more comfortable drive back to the camp site where the bike was offloaded. It now stood looking dejected in solitary confinement and I could hardly bare to look at it knowing deep down that I would most probably be sending it home courtesy of my insurance.
I had completed 1150 miles since setting off from home and I now had to explain to my wife why I might be limping when she sees me next.
Epilogue.
Writing this article has brought home to me just exactly what a great bunch of people were out there riding with me. I realise that we will all dive in and help when someone drops a clanger on a rally, but until it happens to you, you tend to give it little thought. Thanks to everyone who helped me in any way; and I promise that I will try not to do it again.
Kev Feltoe.
