well, i am home. just. mostly intact.

i left rhyader’s cafe as-per my last entry, and was accosted outside by two of the cafe’s staff whilst getting my kit on for the bike, asking me the nature of the bizzare device that i was playing with whilst eating my meal.

don’t they have palmpilots in mid-wales, or something? 😎

there were four french bikers pulled-up in the town, evidently also on a tour; there was a new bmw r1150gs (a bike i might eventually get, or it’s road-themed brother) – plus a cagiva navigator, a xj1100 (iirc?) and – bizzarely – an mv agusta f4.

who the hell goes touring on an f4? it’s about as practical as flying a f-18 down to the local supermarket.

anyway… they ignored (or possibly giggled) at me, i can’t think why, so i rode my measly 125cc bike (on which I had just completed 300 miles of outstanding mountain and off-road biking) onwards into england.

fie upon them.

i stopped at the house of my 94-yr-old uncle arthur (living in the village of dilwyn in herefordshire) who promptly phoned my parents with the excitement of it all, meaning that i would have to detour to go visit them too.

bother. i wasn’t planning this. i wanted to swing further south, and see the parents next week. oh well.

en route to home-home in droitwich, i got thoroughly lost, pulled up at the kerbside of a backroad in order to read a map and get my bearings, hit a hidden patch of gravel and dropped the bike.

on my left foot.

we hit the ground with me still astride (technically, this would probably be referred to as low-siding it) and skidded for about five feet; this was sufficient to crack a panel, shred a couple of pointy bits on the fairing, scratch some paint, tear my jacket sleeve, and sprain my ankle.

having done something similar before, i knew the drill: hit the kill-switch (yes, bikes have got BRS-es too), check for safety, pull self out from under the bike and relax for a few minutes before trying to ascertain damage.

i popped a 400mg ibuprofen to act as a anti-inflammatory agent, chatted to an elderly couple who had kindly stopped to see if i needed help, but were alas both too frail to actually help me lift the bike, eventually got it up, set it on sidestand, and checked everything over.

the damage is cosmetic (barring the crack) but would probably cost a bomb to repair / get replacement panels.

this would be a problem if i actually cared.

since i intend to keep the bike as a commuter / winter bike (until it falls apart) this is actually an opportunity to test my DIY bodyshop-repair skills, especially since it’s only me who has to look at it.

medically, everything would have been a hell of a lot worse if i had not invested in really good kit. everything did their respective jobs. I feel generally OK, if a bit battered in places.

anyway – i got to the parents, drank tea, relaxed, and then did the 110 miles homewards, via stratford-on-avon oxford and reading; i’ve just now decamped, deplugged, will have some food, a bath, and pop-over to the local A&E (viz: “hospital ER”) for an x-ray to check that i haven’t done a beckham and broken a metatarsal.

530 miles (850km) in three days. more later.

ps: note to jon katz: i get all my important e-mail summarised to me via phone text messages, so yes i read your e-mail as soon as i re-established cellphone coverage from out of the boondocks of llanrhystud. therefore i must still be at work, by your definition. 😎

pps: joep: hardly easy rider. harleys and other cruisers generally can’t go the sort of places i’ve been going. 😎