Damn! I Put My Foot in it....
There's nothing quite so deleterious to your plans as the unplanned...... I was booked to take my test on the morning of Fri 19 January at Exeter Driving Centre. It was a cold, but dry morning, and I felt very positive - the previous day's practice had gone brilliantly, and I felt like I was really getting there with balance and control at slow speeds - hold that thought!
I started in the received safety position, carried out my shoulder checks, head-up to check ahead and with the carriageway clear, pulled out to start the manoeuvre. I pulled forward steadily about 5 metres, carried out my final right-hand shoulder check, and then started the turn. Throttle open to give me approx. 1200 rpm, and clutch slipped for control, rear brake gently engaged for stability; so far so good. With my head cranked over to the fence, a third of the way into the turn, I turned my head to target the exit point - where I wanted to be facing when the turn was complete. It was at this point that it all went wrong.
For reasons that frankly elude me, I pulled the clutch in fractionally, robbing the bike of drive. I didn't notice it happen, as the engine note seemed to stay the same. All I know is that one second I'm pulling a U-Turn, and the next, I'm on the deck, with the bike on top of me!
When this kind of thing happens, it takes a second or five for you to process where you are, and what the damage is. I heard shouts as Malcolm & Ben realised what had just happened. They dismounted their bikes, and ran over towards me. By now I was aware that I was actually pinned under the bike - I couldn't move my right leg. My ankle was well and truly pinned down by the crankcase.
Malcolm & Ben pulled the Honda off me, and as all good first responders do, made an assessment of my position and any potential damage. At this point, I know I'm really a biker at heart, because my first question is "How is the bike?"! As it turns out, fine, apart from the rear brake lever being a little bent.
Lying on my right side, I look down my body see what's-what. As I survey my right boot, it's immediately apparent it's pointing at a very jaunty, but seemingly very wrong 45 degrees to the right! I can feel my toes however, so I proceed to roll onto my front, so I can put my weight on my knees, before attempting to stand up. The lads stand either side of me, and steady me as I draw my feet forward and transfer my weight onto them. I plant my left foot on the floor, draw myself up, and then transfer weight onto my right foot. Arrrrrggghhhhhh!!! Agony! It was momentary however, as I heard a sickening, sucky plop, and felt my ankle slipping downward and plopping back into it's socket. The pain and the shock were only momentary, as I was able to stand on my own two feet almost immediately.
Malcolm suggests getting back in the school building, and having a cup of tea to ameliorate the shock. I elevate my foot, wash down some paracetamol with hot sweet tea, and sit there waiting to feel better. Malcolm swaps my scheduled test with Ben, and disappears off to get Ben through his Mod 1, whilst I recover. Ben returns victorious some 40 minutes later, by which time I have had the opportunity to walk a little. I tell Malcolm that I am concerned that the pain - which is receding - is still going to be too much of a distraction, and I probably should cancel my test, and return home. He agrees, and thinks it's the better choice in the circumstances.
I drive my car the 50 minutes back home, left foot braking, as it's far less painful than using my right foot! I get home, having called my wife to let her know that I'm safe at home, and will be elevating my ankle for the rest of the day. She returns home from work early in the afternoon, and makes a pain assessment. I reported 4/10 on the pain scale when she prodded my by now very swollen ankle, and in my mind's eye, I was already beginning to think in terms of re-booking my test for the following week. Oh foolish me....
After supper, I sank carefully into a reclining chair in the lounge, and with my foot elevated on a stool, watched a movie. When it came to time to go to bed, I could no longer put any weight on the ankle - any contact at all was complete agony. I guess the adrenalin had well and truly worn off by now. I crawled across the living room, up the stairs, and into bed. And when I say crawled, on my hands and knees was the only way I could do it. It took 15 minutes to cover the short distance from the lounge to the bedroom!
I couldn't bear the thought of having to get out of bed to go to the toilet in the night (a fact of life for an old Badger's like me) so Angela came up with an innovative pisspot! She cut the neck off an empty plastic four pint milk container, so I could just sit on the edge of the bed and relieve myself without having to walk to the toilet in the night!
Angela had the idea to wrap a t-shirt around the head of a broom, and I used it as a crutch to clatter my way down the stairs to the car. Musgrove Park Hospital's A& E department was pretty empty at 08:30 on a Saturday morning, and I was seen pretty quickly. I was given a support boot and crutches, and told to expect it to take around six weeks to heal, as I had extensive soft-tissue damage and the concomitant swelling.
Disaster! No bike test in January! No driving, a week off work, and a follow-on appointment at the Paediatric Trauma ward, which confirmed the 6 weeks minimum healing time diagnosis!
So here is to 6 weeks of catching up on my reading, and vicarious biking adventures on YouTube....
Advance warning: This post includes a gratuitous, and damned ugly photograph of a swollen foot. I don't approve of it myself, but it is included in the interests of journalistic accuracy. You have been warned!
I arrived at Bridge Honda School of Motorcycling nice and early, to get in some manoeuvring practice done in the yard. Ben, the young lad who I had been training with throughout the week, had had the same idea. My steed for the day was the really rather excellent Honda NC750S which I had been riding for the previous 3 days. As the ambient temperature was only just about 4 degrees Celsius, I fired up the engine to warm up, and started a short series of loops, runs through the cones, and of course U-turns. After about 7 or 8 U-turns, our instructor Malcolm gave us a two minute warning. As I was already facing the "wrong" direction, I thought "Might as well pull one more U-Turn before lining up". Bad call.I started in the received safety position, carried out my shoulder checks, head-up to check ahead and with the carriageway clear, pulled out to start the manoeuvre. I pulled forward steadily about 5 metres, carried out my final right-hand shoulder check, and then started the turn. Throttle open to give me approx. 1200 rpm, and clutch slipped for control, rear brake gently engaged for stability; so far so good. With my head cranked over to the fence, a third of the way into the turn, I turned my head to target the exit point - where I wanted to be facing when the turn was complete. It was at this point that it all went wrong.
For reasons that frankly elude me, I pulled the clutch in fractionally, robbing the bike of drive. I didn't notice it happen, as the engine note seemed to stay the same. All I know is that one second I'm pulling a U-Turn, and the next, I'm on the deck, with the bike on top of me!
When this kind of thing happens, it takes a second or five for you to process where you are, and what the damage is. I heard shouts as Malcolm & Ben realised what had just happened. They dismounted their bikes, and ran over towards me. By now I was aware that I was actually pinned under the bike - I couldn't move my right leg. My ankle was well and truly pinned down by the crankcase.
Malcolm & Ben pulled the Honda off me, and as all good first responders do, made an assessment of my position and any potential damage. At this point, I know I'm really a biker at heart, because my first question is "How is the bike?"! As it turns out, fine, apart from the rear brake lever being a little bent.
Lying on my right side, I look down my body see what's-what. As I survey my right boot, it's immediately apparent it's pointing at a very jaunty, but seemingly very wrong 45 degrees to the right! I can feel my toes however, so I proceed to roll onto my front, so I can put my weight on my knees, before attempting to stand up. The lads stand either side of me, and steady me as I draw my feet forward and transfer my weight onto them. I plant my left foot on the floor, draw myself up, and then transfer weight onto my right foot. Arrrrrggghhhhhh!!! Agony! It was momentary however, as I heard a sickening, sucky plop, and felt my ankle slipping downward and plopping back into it's socket. The pain and the shock were only momentary, as I was able to stand on my own two feet almost immediately.
Malcolm suggests getting back in the school building, and having a cup of tea to ameliorate the shock. I elevate my foot, wash down some paracetamol with hot sweet tea, and sit there waiting to feel better. Malcolm swaps my scheduled test with Ben, and disappears off to get Ben through his Mod 1, whilst I recover. Ben returns victorious some 40 minutes later, by which time I have had the opportunity to walk a little. I tell Malcolm that I am concerned that the pain - which is receding - is still going to be too much of a distraction, and I probably should cancel my test, and return home. He agrees, and thinks it's the better choice in the circumstances.
I drive my car the 50 minutes back home, left foot braking, as it's far less painful than using my right foot! I get home, having called my wife to let her know that I'm safe at home, and will be elevating my ankle for the rest of the day. She returns home from work early in the afternoon, and makes a pain assessment. I reported 4/10 on the pain scale when she prodded my by now very swollen ankle, and in my mind's eye, I was already beginning to think in terms of re-booking my test for the following week. Oh foolish me....
After supper, I sank carefully into a reclining chair in the lounge, and with my foot elevated on a stool, watched a movie. When it came to time to go to bed, I could no longer put any weight on the ankle - any contact at all was complete agony. I guess the adrenalin had well and truly worn off by now. I crawled across the living room, up the stairs, and into bed. And when I say crawled, on my hands and knees was the only way I could do it. It took 15 minutes to cover the short distance from the lounge to the bedroom!
I couldn't bear the thought of having to get out of bed to go to the toilet in the night (a fact of life for an old Badger's like me) so Angela came up with an innovative pisspot! She cut the neck off an empty plastic four pint milk container, so I could just sit on the edge of the bed and relieve myself without having to walk to the toilet in the night!
Angela had the idea to wrap a t-shirt around the head of a broom, and I used it as a crutch to clatter my way down the stairs to the car. Musgrove Park Hospital's A& E department was pretty empty at 08:30 on a Saturday morning, and I was seen pretty quickly. I was given a support boot and crutches, and told to expect it to take around six weeks to heal, as I had extensive soft-tissue damage and the concomitant swelling.
Disaster! No bike test in January! No driving, a week off work, and a follow-on appointment at the Paediatric Trauma ward, which confirmed the 6 weeks minimum healing time diagnosis!
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