Big splash

This video came up on my sidebar. I remember standing by the Ford at Rufford and watching the cars drive through the water. I wasn't driving myself at the time, I was on a walk in the area and came across this source of amusement. Fords can be anything between a few inches deep, to a few feet deep when it rains. It is perfectly fine to drive through them when the conditions are right, saving a long and sometimes complicated diversion to get around them. People often take a chance though, and as you can see from this video they sometimes come unstuck and have to be helped out of the water. 

It reminded me of my watery mishap years ago, when I had a Honda CX500 custom. I had saved up long and hard for this bike. I passed the motorcycle test a few years before on a Kawasaki 100 which my friend bought, for me to practice on. I took the test in Southport. The first bike I bought for myself was a Honda 125. It was big enough for a starter bike. 

But then I wanted something bigger so I could ride further afield. Going all the way to Aberystwyth from the Midlands on a day out, on a 125 was a bit of a slog. 

I decided on a Honda 400. I wanted a new bike and I could just about afford that. I scoured the ads in Motorcycle News and found a dealer just off the North Circular Road in London. Off I went in my old van to view what they had in stock. When I got there they didn't have the chosen bike for me to look at. However they did have a 500, and with the discount of a cheque for £100 arriving in the post direct from Honda, I worked it out that I could afford it. Two weeks later I went back to London on the train to pick it up. 

My pride and joy. Big handlebars, small fuel tank, I was now an 'easy rider'. I bought panniers for it and could now go anywhere. I cleaned it and polished it every time I went out. The only new vehicle I have ever had.

 

So what's the connection between my bike and the Ford at Rufford? The local police had organised a competition and test for bikers, taking in 30 miles of all types of road riding. I thought it would be useful to brush up on my riding skills, and give me another piece of paper to go with my car, lorry, and coach driving certificates. 

Around the course they had checkpoints. The police were stationed to watch how the riders tackled junctions and other minor obstacles. At one point we had to guess the weight of our bike, and put it on a weighbridge to check it. I hadn't a clue so made a wild guess at 500 lbs. 

Then, I came across a Ford on a country road. Not very deep, but I hadn't encountered that before on my normal riding. What should I do? Stop, first gear, take it slowly, or go at it a bit faster and whizz through. I opted for the cautious option. All eyes were on me as I attempted to ride through the water. Police officers were watching. I hadn't reckoned on the stones on the bottom being green with slime and very slippery. I reached the centre and my beloved bike slid from underneath me. I was left with legs wide apart and the bike on it's side. 

The bike was heavy and I couldn't lift it. Two big blokes in uniform came to my assistance and pulled it out for me. Oh the embarrassment. I was also very angry that they had included this in the test. How ridiculous. If I had come across this on my normal days riding I would have found a way around it. Disgruntled, I gave up, and abandoned the rest of the course, and went to my aunties house nearby to calm down. 

A week later, I had a knock at the door. A policeman stood there. He said, you know that part of the test where you had to guess the weight of your bike. I said yes, hoping he would not mention the fact that they had to rescue me. It turned out that my guess was spot on, and he presented me with a set of drinks glasses as a prize. 

I had a few years of happy riding. Found some pals, went to some rallies, often camping at pubs, or farmers fields. A lady trucker friend from Hampshire had a BMW bike, and invited me to a rally in Holland. I went a day before her because she couldn't get time off work. 

I got on the boat, was chatting to a Dutch biker who had been in the UK for a holiday and was on his way back home. I said I was nervous about riding on the right hand side of the road. He said, no matter follow me as he was going in the same direction. We disembarked and I kept him in my sight.

The first roundabout we came to he started to go the wrong way around it. I stopped dead, this wasn't right. I laughed my head off. He had got used to our road system over the previous two weeks. He realised what he had done, so off we went again. He did a right turn straight into a 'no entry' road. By then I was thinking I would be better off on my own. I found the rally site. 

The time came to move to my present house, I had to sell my beloved Honda. I had become a fairweather rider anyway and it was spending a lot of time in the garage. I also needed the money for the new house. When I first had it, a friends husband said if I ever want to sell it, give him first choice, so I did. He snapped it up, still in pristine condition, and it went to Bristol. 

And there you have it. My biking life in a nutshell. A bit of a saga, my fingers are dancing all over the keyboard. 

It's raining at the moment, so I will keep busy indoors. Have a good weekend. Toodle pip.   ilona