A year less a week...

Soon after arriving back in Darwin following my year backpacking it became pretty obvious that I needed some form of transportation.   Initially I was staying with a mate of mine whom I had taught with at the local high school for some three years prior to me going overseas.  He was also the one who picked me up from the airport with a “slab of green cans” (24 cans of Victoria Bitter beer), which we (yes, more than just two of us) polished off rather too quickly in celebration of my return.   So after making short work of the said ale, we decided that our next stop should be the local casino where we should party all night long…not sure what we were thinking but a young mind with too much alcohol is a dangerous thing…clearly!

The next morning (did I actually sleep or just think I did?) nursing the hangover of the century he somehow had convinced me the previous night to go fishing (which I officially hate…perhaps hate is too strong a term, so how about “dislike with an intense passion second to none”!) with him and some other guys from our touch rugby team.   None of us lasted too long – the swell out on the reef coupled with the tropical and unrelenting heat soon had me over the side of the boat, along with almost everyone else…yeah, fun times indeed!

The first week back I realized I definitely needed wheels of some variety just so I could get around town, get to the various schools for work, the beach and of course all of my sports - rugby, football, windsurfing. 

Mangrove swamps like the ones bordering Dick Ward Drive

Surprisingly it only took me a couple of days to secure some relief teaching roles and fortunately within two weeks I had secured a full time teaching job with the education department at a nearby high school.

Now the next thing I needed was mobility so the next weekend I was out searching the local car yards for something that would get me from point A to point B without fuss.   Not a great selection I remember thinking as I left the third yard for the morning.  Most of the cars had seen better days, however I noticed a Honda motorbike dealership across the road...

Hhhmmm the last time I ridden a bike was on the farm, but I had always enjoyed the feeling of freedom a bike had given me.  Why not I thought as I meandered over the road and into the dealership, where I was surrounded by line after line of new shiny bikes ranging from the big powerful super bikes down to the farm variety.

The sales rep eyed me as I strolled in; he made his way over and casually asked what I was interested in.  Great question I thought because what I was interested in and what I could realistically afford were two very different things.   Sporty but mid range I told him as he walked me toward the smaller bikes.

Less than 30 minutes later I was signing the papers for a new Honda CBX 250.   Once the loan passed they called me to say it would be ready to pick up the following Friday afternoon.  I have to admit I was like a kid in a candy store, excitement coursed through my veins all week knowing that I’d have a cool new bike by the weekend.

TW's pride & joy - my Honda 250
circa 1986

My brother’s workshop was not too far from the dealership so after work I hitched a lift into town to catch up with him (school started at 7:30 am but finished by 2:30 pm cos’ of the unrelenting tropical heat) and pretty convenient to be honest.   Stepping into the dealership at precisely 5:00 pm I could hardly contain my excitement.  The sales rep took me to the back of the store where he had the bike ready to go – wow!   Okay I was in love with a bike (there, not afraid to admit it!)

I have procured the requisite probationary drivers permit and insurance so that I could ride it, but was still required to spend a weekend attending the defensive riding school before gaining my general riders license.  

Two weekends later I found myself atop my bike in a large open asphalt car park early Saturday morning with two days of intense rider training ahead of me.   The mantra that our instructor said over and over again all weekend was “if you last a year without an accident, then you'll have a much greater likelihood that you won't have one - the first year is the killer".   

Strangely I didn’t think that I would have an accident, that was for others in the class to worry about, after all I had been riding bikes for years on the farms I’d worked at and therefore felt supremely confident in my abilities...not me I thought to myself!

The other big things I quickly learned was that riding a bike in the tropics is inherently different from riding in normal four seasons type weather.  Its just too hot to wear leathers, in fact I found it too hot to wear much other than a tank top or t-shirt, shorts and thongs (flip flops in North American) plus helmet of course as that was mandatory.   It was so hot, you’d take your helmet off after riding and your hair would be stuck to your head as if it had been placed in a bucket of water – did I say dripping wet?

My normal motorcycle wear in Darwin
(Roscoe & TW enjoying a beer 1987)

As well, during the wet season you had to be careful of the obligatory afternoon electrical storms.  Water literally bucketed from the sky for anywhere between 15 and 30 min.  At times it rained so heavily that water would accumulate on the roads from anywhere up to 6 – 8 inches and brought the danger of aquaplaning into play.

My bike was great and I loved the feeling of riding it, its maneuverability, its sleek lines…yep I loved everything about it.   As the weeks turned into months my confidence continued to grow and by keeping my wits about me had dodged a couple of potential early mishaps.

In those days my then girlfriend and I lived in a townhouse on Kiranou Place just off Casuarina drive in Nightcliff.  One Saturday we decided to head over to the Parap pool to meet friends and enjoy the waterslides for the afternoon.    Over the months she had learned the intricacies of riding on the back of my bike and as usual we were in our tank tops, shorts/dress (no not me) and thongs (flip flops) as we headed to the pool.  

It was a beautiful afternoon and another gorgeous dry season day with the temperature hovering around the 34C (or 94F) mark and definitely beach or pool weather.  To get to the Parap pool we had to ride along Dick Ward Drive, which was basically a long causeway that straddled the mangrove swamps rising some 12 – 15 feet above the high tide mark.   It was a totally clear day with barely a cloud in the sky and perfect riding weather.   There is only one road that hits Dick Ward drive anywhere along the 2-kilometer causeway and that is the exit from Richardson Park (local rugby field).   It’s completely visible from some distance away and with no obstructions what so ever.

As we approached I had noticed a car waiting at the stop sign, I still remember how strange it was because there was no traffic and they literally had minutes to turn, but strangely the car sat there all the while.  Up until this point I have been traveling at about 100 km per hour, but something made me hesitate and so I began to slow the bike down as I approached the intersection.   Down to about 80 km now but still no movement from the car…   With less than 50 feet between me and the intersection the driver pulled out, the driver saw me but instead of accelerating and hoping to get out of our way she froze and stopped dead in the middle of the road.  

I had no time to think except hit the brakes hard but it was too late - we ploughed directly into the car right at the central door pillar.  The next thing I know I’m lying semi-conscious on the burning hot asphalt road and wondering how I got there.  I was completely disoriented after the impact and being launched over the car (my helmet leaving a rather large Pepi-le-Pew like mark across the roof of the car) before apparently cart wheeling down the road until I came to a stop quite some way away from the impact site.  My girlfriend was launched over both the car and me but miraculously walked away with minor cuts, bruises and a number of large abrasions from the road.

Another magical dry season day in Darwin.  The Arafura Sea
looking toward the distant Indonesia - 1986

The guy traveling a few hundred meters behind us was an off duty fireman who had a emergency dispatch radio in his truck, and literally before I made contact with the road was on the radio getting an ambulance to the scene.  I guess I went into shock and by the time the ambulance arrived he was tending to me and my girlfriend while the driver paced the side of the road both wailing like a banshee - completely distraught.  I distinctly remember coming to in the ambulance and wondering what was going on before fading out once again.

My next recollection was lying in emergency at the Darwin Hospital as they cut off what was left of my tank top and shorts.   The nurse was talking to me as she cut away the shredded clothing, while someone else was checking my vitals and hooking me up to an IV.   Now my body was really starting to hurt by this time, I looked down as she took a rather large pair of industrial sized tweezers from a tray beside the bed and slowly lifted each of my black and swollen testicles – one at a time thank you very much, yes they resembled black oranges and I couldn’t believe that they belonged to me except that when she touched them the pain was excruciating.   She lifted to see if there was any cuts of further visible damage to the scrotum...OMG!

I still remember making eye contact with her as she lifted them, her only comment – “Ooohh you’re going to be sore for some time”.   (Really?   Thank you Sherlock Holmes … no kidding!).  Luckily I had no internal injuries except for my very swollen testicles which the police think I received as I exited the bike believing I snapped the mirror off the bike with my nether-parts (yeah, makes you cringe doesn’t it guys).   As well, I had a fair bit of skin off my knees, elbows (I still have floating bone chips on both elbows since the accident) and a damaged patella (knee cap) again as I clipped the roof of the car, but fortunately no lasting damage.

Afternoon storm approaching from the sea
Darwin, Australia - 1986

The police came to the hospital later that afternoon after surveying the accident scene and taking down the pertinent measurements they also needed to take a statement from each of us.  They explained that they were going to be charging the driver with Reckless Driving.  

They commented on the state of the bike or what was left of it…   My poor bike - the handlebars had been snapped clean in two, right mirror snapped off, fuel tank severely dented, front wheel crushed, the motor in a myriad of parts with some sections actually embedded in the door of the car…yeah a complete mess.

The police were shocked that we both literally walked away from the accident (or in my case hobbled very slowly).   In all their years of experience with this type of accident they said that they never seen anyone walk away from something like that.  Noting that other riders had been killed at much slower speeds and that we had been given the one in a million chance and survived.  They just shook their heads and said you both should be dead – you do realize that right?   

The accident happened a year less a week from the day I got my bike…

Epilogue:  A few weeks after the accident my brother Laurie threw me the keys to his Honda 600cc one afternoon, he looked me in the eye and said that if I didn’t get back on a bike now I likely never would.  Deep down I knew he was right, but I have to admit I was shitting myself as I approach the bike, sat down and turned the key over.  As it sputtered to life the butterflies in my stomach also took flight.  Somehow I toughed it out for about an hour as I rode around town, but it was one slow ride J.