I have loved engines and two wheels for as long as I can remember, it’s in my blood and after my Mother and Father separated, my Father just did whatever he wanted. This includes, keeping a Suzuki GSXR 600 in the front room, having framed photographs of his favourite racers on the walls and taking a Triumph engine apart on the dining room table. It never occurred to me that most Fathers didn’t take engines apart in the kitchen on the dinner table, I just thought it was something every Father did, just the norm, if you like. While my peers had a favourite team or favourite player, I had a favourite racer and a favourite bike. Ben Bostrom, Ducati 916 in red. Everybody else grew up with football or rugby, but in our house we had World Superbikes and the Isle Of Man TT.
Despite my passion for motorbikes and racing, it took me until fairly recently to pass my test. This is partly because in my late teens and early twenties I had boys, makeup and going out to occupy my time and partly because I made a deal with my Father. The deal was as follows; I had to be driving my car for over three years and be over twenty one, then he would give me his blessing to ride motorbikes, as this would, ‘help me live a bit longer’, his words, not mine. I passed my car test when I was eighteen, so I had by far kept my side of the deal.
Learning to ride a motorbike, for me, was much easier than learning to drive a car. In a car I just couldn’t get my head around gears and clutch control, maybe because I’m not technical and didn’t really understand how it worked, but on a motorbike, I took to it like a duck to water, I loved it. I passed my CBT in March and then my Direct Access in June. The world was my oyster and I was so proud of myself. There is something to be said for achieving something without the help of anyone else, on your own merit and with your own hard work, it makes success all the more sweeter.
My very first bike was a Suzuki SV650S on a 2007 plate, in blue, with beautiful white stripes embedded into the paint work, awesome loud exhaust and lovely little tail tidy. For me, it was my perfect first motorbike. A dream come true. Something I had wanted and worked towards since being a young girl, my very own motorbike, nobody could take it away from me, because it was mine. I just wanted to ride everywhere, all the time. I took my bike all over Snowdonia National Park, all around Manchester and off into Mid Wales. It wasn’t a ride out if I wasn’t hitting one hundred miles on each trip.
It’s difficult to explain to non-bikers the thrill of riding a motorbike, it’s difficult to convey the passion across to people who aren’t petrol heads or those who don’t have a need for speed. There are no words that will describe that feeling of not being able to change up any higher, having your right wrist pinned as far back as it will go and glancing down and clocking 130mph or more on your dash. You can not describe the feeling of getting the bike cranked over left, right, left, down small country lanes, the feeling of having your chest pressed to the tank, keeping your elbows tight by your side and getting as tucked in as possible just to go that bit faster. The noise and the smell your bike creates just adds to the whole experience. Just the thought of it brings a smile to my face and gives me butterflies in my stomach there is nothing that I would rather be doing.
But as everybody knows, riding a motorbike is dangerous. It is not the bike or the rider that makes it particularly unsafe, it is other road users, ninety five per cent of motorbike accidents are not the fault of the rider. Having come from a biking family, I know the risks involved, I know that I might end up injured and I am aware that one day I may go out for a ride and I might never come back, but this awareness does not make it any easier to deal with when it actually happens.
The day I had my accident I was heading to Oulton Park to watch qualifying and race one of the British Superbike triple header weekend. I had all my gear on, full race suit with back protector, Shoei Raid 2 helmet, gloves, Sidi boots, I would never dream of leaving my house without the correct protective equipment, there is just no point. I was heading towards a duel carriage way and was making my way through the town where I live. I do not speed in built up areas, I don’t in my car, so I don’t on the bike, there’s too much going on and every chance of a small child running into the road, so I always ride at the speed limit. I followed three cars for one and a half miles through the 30mph zone and then as I approached the duel carriage way, the road is long and straight and changes into a national speed limit zone, a perfect place to over take. I waited until nothing was coming in the opposite direction so that I could pull right out onto the opposite side of the road, mainly to be seen. Mirrors, indicators, life saver, pull out and go. I did everything right, to standard, I even had my thumb over my horn ready to beep if anyone did try and pull out on me. As I was side by side over taking the first car, he decided he was going to overtake too, (I later found out, he was trying to keep up with the car in front as he was in convoy and had no idea where he was going).
The whole incident must have taken less than ten seconds but it felt like ten minutes, anyone who has ever been in a road traffic accident will know what this feels like, it’s a very bizarre, strange feeling. When I realised that the driver of the car had not seen me I was instantly on my horn, to let him know I was there, expecting him to pull back in, he did not. I braked, he had forced me off the road and I ran onto the grass, I kept the bike upright, until I hit the gravelled entrance of somebody’s driveway and down me and the bike went. At my last glance I was doing 50mph, I wasn’t even speeding, because if I had of been speeding he would probably have missed me, it would have been close, but he would have missed me, as I went flying past him. I can very clearly remember my thought process as I dismounted my bike. In this order, number one, ‘my dad is going to kill me,’ number two, ‘my new beautiful bike,’ number three, ‘he hasn’t stopped,’ and number four, ‘ouch, this hurts’.
I did my best superman impression at 50mph down the road, and had to watch my bike do the same about three feet in front of me. I think, for me, the worst part was watching the damage take place to my bike. Something that was mine and that I’d wanted for so long being destroyed before my eyes. I remember lying on the tarmac and watching the car drive away, I turned over onto my back and dragged myself out of the road, I thought nobody had stopped. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t, I was so angry, how did he not see me? My leg hurt. I dragged myself over to the grass verge and lay on the ground, I needed to think.
A women came running over and placed her arm around me, only now I realised that seven cars and two motorbikes had stopped. I still had my helmet on at this point and was surrounded by people telling me that they had seen everything happen and the accident wasn’t my fault. I removed my gloves, then my helmet, despite everyone telling me not too, I knew I hadn’t hurt my neck, back or head. To my surprise the helmet wasn’t as damaged as I thought it would have been, the visor was ruined, but that was it and all I could feel was the pain in my left leg.
As I placed my helmet next to me I heard the usual gasps of, ‘Oh my god, it’s a girl,' and, 'it’s only a young girl.’ In case you hadn’t already guessed, yes, I am female and I am twenty four years old, I’m quite tall and slim, so I’m not your stereotypical motorbike rider, I don’t care. My gender shocks so many people when I take my helmet off and I have already had to deal with lots of discrimination because of it, but I am always very quick to remind people that women do now have the vote, so I see no reason for us not to be riding a motorbike. But I would like to mention that I have never received any prejudice from fellow bikers, which I think speaks for itself.
In the end, it turned out that the car driver did stop, he also had the audacity to approach me whilst I was sitting at the side of the road repeating, ‘look at my bike, it wasn’t my fault,’ like some sort of mantra. He said to me, ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.’ To which I couldn’t stop myself from saying, ‘You didn’t see me? You didn’t look! You could have fucking killed me!’
I was very lucky to have escaped my accident with just cartilage and tissue damage to my left knee, I was two feet away from colliding with a stone wall and I narrowly missed hitting a telegraph pole, an impact with either one of these things could have either killed me or at the very least, paralysed me. The ambulance crew, the doctors, the police and everybody at the scene have restored my faith in humanity, so many kind, good hearted people were worried and concerned about my wellbeing.
It took me a good few weeks to realise I could have lost my life that day, all because a car driver was not paying any attention to the road, he did not look in his mirrors for at least a mile, because if he did, he would have seen me and he certainly did not check his blind spot before making a manoeuvre. I can accept that if I ride a motorbike fast and hard I may lose my life in the process, but what I’m not okay with is somebody else’s ignorance and stupidity taking my life from me.
A week after my accident I took to twitter to promote ‘think bike, think biker’ because if only the car driver who caused my accident had looked in his mirrors he would have seen me and this would never have happened. Lots of high profile people retweeted me and if I only made one car driver ‘think bike, think biker’ then it’s an achievement, and I feel like I made a difference. I guess you could say it helped with the healing process.
Most people ask me; ‘when will you be getting back on the bike?’ ‘Will you ever ride again?’ ‘Have you been put off?’ And other such variations that involve me getting back on a motorbike. Usually my main response is of course; ‘as soon as I’m back to 100 per cent and the bikes fixed, yes I can’t wait’. Most people frown at this response.
But, unfortunately it has been six long weeks, I am still on crutches and I’m starting to wonder if it’s all really worth it. This whole incident has broken my heart, I’m a tough cookie, I’m obviously not your bog standard female, but this has been a huge thing for me. It has changed and altered my life much more than I could have ever expected. I honestly thought two weeks off work and I’ll be up and about. But that regrettably hasn’t been the case, my knee is much worse that I first assumed and physiotherapy is a long hard road, matching with that fact that I’m a really active person that never sits still, it’s been a real shock to the system.
I am ashamed to admit that this week was the first time I felt that I didn’t want to get back on a bike. I wanted to forget the whole thing happened and write it all off as a stupid drama and never ride again, maybe the critics were right, maybe I was too young and too female to ride a motorbike. Then I read this:
‘You live more for five minutes going fast on a bike than other people do in all of their life.’
