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Rain wasn’t forecast this particular day. A spell of drier weather was set to hang around for a short while, allegedly, maybe even all day long.
It wasn’t like the ground needed any more rain, the plains were high with water and the drainage ditches for miles around were flowing at capacity. Basically the water had nowhere to go, the rivers couldn’t take any more. The water levels just stayed high.

The grey sky above mirrored that of my mind: unsettled.
It wasn’t raining. For how long was anyone’s guess. Dry it may well be as far as the sky overhead was concerned.
On the good side – dry atmospherics did however mean that for what I had in mind meant there was a good chance of myself staying dry.
Underfoot didn’t lend encouragement to the same level of confidence. It was very definitely wet.
By the end of the day there would be mud, and a lot of it.

My mind reeled back to bygone days racing motorbikes in glorious mud. Actually, I loved it. I was good in the mud.
Mentally I shook myself back to reality, and all the more aware that a brief reflection of the weather and previous events in bad weather, although normal to reminisce, was distracting me from my intended plans for today. I instead concentrated on looking over my bike.

It was a relief that it was dry. But … why was my mind unsettled? I wasn’t sure why. It just was.
Maybe it was because my intentions were out of kilter and I knew it. Some overriding factor had caused me to make the most bizarre decision that if I were thinking straight I would never have made such a decision. In short, I was going to ride my bike to this event today, not trailer it over to there. With this practice there was always going to be a little uncertainty. I had to be pretty sure of myself to undertake such an action.
Dad, from years ago when he was competing in motorcycle events had often ridden his machine to the geographical location of the event itself and had then competed as a racer at that event on the very same bike that he had ridden to get there – with mum as pillion too.
Maybe then this was just a synced justification.

Historically –
Huge time consuming efforts had meant that in the past I’d spent so much time with my brother, helping him to put together his track lay outs for his enduros over countless weekends for so many years that the possibility of riding some proper off road ground for the fun of it appealed so much that quite possibly I had overlooked the reality of what I really, really wanted to do today. Other plans had been shelved in favour of this today.
Stupidly I had thought that this was going to be a deserving exercise seeing as all the hard work I had selflessly put in over the years, of which was never on the face of it appreciated by the crowds of riders that turned up to ride on those tracks. All they did was turn up at a pre-erected track layout and ride. There was never any thanks to the organisers who had toiled for umpteen weekends beforehand putting up a track that would hopefully highlight the epitome of off road riding pleasure.
They just turn up, ride, and then bugger off without a by or a leave.
Of course, I rode other events myself that had been put together by other clubs, and paid for the privilege, such was my hobby.
I loved it – riding off road motorcycles on proper tracks.
Over the years I hadn’t given much thought to the reckless approach that was mine. I’d ventured between moto-x and enduros and back again, swapping when I felt like it, along with an assortment of different bikes. Consequently I had spent a fortune on both.
I’d fallen off during the act of full on competition and broken myself on multiple occasions. The bike had sometimes come off badly too, just not as badly as myself.
Damage limitation was never in my vocabulary. If I had to go at it a certain way and there was a risk involved, I had an uncanny way of ignoring that. Sadly for me, I had never fully realised the desire to win until one particular day out of the blue I did realise I had it in me. For me there had always been a chasm of difference between riding to win and just riding my way and fuck the consequences.

Schoolboys –
I (and we – my brothers) spent years riding off road bikes in clubs whilst still at school, generously and fantastically funded by mum and dad. I progressed through the ranks during schoolboy years, ahead of what I judged was any ability of mine; more like due to the bike I was riding.
It wasn’t winning years (although with a few decent overall results to be proud of), as my mojo hadn’t kicked in yet; unrealising that with a little more effort and some dedicated competitive spirit I may be able to do something special.
My efforts though, must have appeared OK, as after spending some time in one race group and then another, and then with the introduction of a faster bike – no sooner had I engaged in a consequently faster race group than I mysteriously was upgraded to another even faster race group. Going from ‘D’ group one week to ‘A’ group the next week was as a result of the bike I was riding i.e. it was an ‘A’ group bike. Surely though the results (although good that week) didn’t necessitate moving me to ‘experts’ group the following week?
Apparently they did. It was on this very occasion after being moved to ‘experts’ that from somewhere within, my competitive spirit did kick in, my mojo fully activated like never before. I was left wondering how I managed to achieve the fanciful result which was for real. Mostly during that event it seemed I was riding for fun. During the races I remember being possessed by this incredible calmness and determination completely alien to me and at the same time everything seemed so easy. It was almost like an out of body experience.
The transformation from fearless and falling off a lot, to a logical thinking, smooth, precise and determined competitor was astounding. And short lived.
I never experienced that winning formula again.
There were winning years progressing into adult racing – eventually.
None of which contained that third dimension of calmness and ease. All of which required the utmost concentration and effort.

Sunday –
Here and now, on this very wet, but dry day, along into the future, I contemplated the possibilities that may follow: ride fast and fall off a lot, ride slow and get bored, ride fast and not fall off a lot, just ride and have fun etc, etc. It would be a ride over some soggy and ploughed up land around a course that was enduro length with a bunch of weekend riders who like me, wished for some fun riding without the need to show any form of competitive nature.
What was playing on my mind was an unknown entity. Something was there niggling away.
I could and did override that feeling with a focused mental approach and a not quite one hundred percent decision to get on the bike and get on over there to the track layout.
Maybe that was half the problem. That niggly feeling could be because I knew I was going to ride the bike there in the first place. It wasn’t like I was going to load the bike onto a trailer and go fully loaded with all the gear to ensure that whatever came about that day I would be in a position to manage the issue.
On the other hand the course was only ten miles away.
The bike was road legal as well as being more than capable of off road riding. It was in fact made for off roading, but to ensure a legality on the road was homologated for road use in its most basic form.
The decision was made and I must admit, with a sort of resigned effort, I threw a leg over the seat of the bike.
Trailer or no trailer? – wasn’t really up for negotiation. My mind was made up. It was a proper mind fuck even so. Which one was the right one for me? The no trailer to take idea was winning over for sure. Like two same minded magnets opposing each other, the trailer idea was edged into the opposite direction.
I kicked the bike into life and throttled up down the road.

Road riding –
I was on my way to the enduro track now and enjoying the feeling of riding motorcycles on the road, trying to look forwards and not into that nowhere land of uncertainty, not able anymore to shake off that unsure feeling from returning. It was playing tricks with me.
The forces at play here were not completely of my doing, at least that’s how I placated myself. The decision must be the right one because I thought I was helped by way of intervention to make it that way. Basically I made my mind up without due consideration.
I limbered up on the bike on the way over there – to the track layout, who needed exercises, the ride over there would loosen me up enough. Get me into the right frame of mind too.
I would be out the starting blocks in terms of mental approach long before anyone else over there even had their bike off the trailer. That would definitely make me feel more positive if nothing else was going to. That was the competitive nature just edging in there. Might be a good idea for me to stop thinking about getting the better of anyone. Come on man, shake that feeling away, this is a fun day.

I arrived at the farm where the track was laid out and made my way over to where my brother was with his bike and van.
Whereby just minutes before I was overriding a weird negativity, or at least trying to, now all of a sudden it returned once again.
Here was me ready to cover some off road riding for a bit of fun, all legitimately and everything, and now for the same reason that I was here in the capacity that I was – no van, just the bike; for that very reason now made me even more aware of how unprepared I was.
I felt like a very small pea in a very large pod – out of place as it were. I’d have to ride my bike home again later, regardless of how it faired. Still, I had a few spares on my waist belt. Shit or bust I suppose.

“Alright”?, I asks my brother. He acknowledges me with a cursory nod of the head and a hello. “What’s with all the gear”, I say to him, “You live closer than me.” As if that was going to make myself feel better about having made what appeared to be a hairbrained idea without due diligence.  He on the other hand had clearly made a proper thought out decision.
There was no reply to that particular statement, there was no need for one. It all made sense. We chatted about other things instead, small talk. General rubbish about other unrelated topics.
In the background, bikes get started as they fire up all around the field parking area. Riders were in various states of readiness with intentions to go. A blue hue of exhaust fumes colour and taint the atmosphere as some riders throttle up their machines with exaggerated revs. My bike is fully warmed up from the ride over to here from home. These guys were here unloading machinery from expensive trailer combinations and motor homes built for the addition of a motorcycle.
I was smarmy with myself – almost. I wasn’t trying to be clever, I was just trying to be practical. Surely it had made sense to ride here on my bike rather than go to all the trouble of loading, unloading etc, for one day. It was the easiest option. I gained because I hadn’t needed to go to all the normal trouble of sorting out the trailer and stuff. And that wasn’t me, at heart. I was fanatical about everything to do with preparation, some of which included how I was going to be in the right frame of mind; which clearly now I wasn’t. Why, for once had I not been bothered?
Too late now.

Mud –
There wasn’t anything official tagged into today. Normally an event would involve some type of scrutineering and some type of briefing. Today was a turn up and ride day. It was a nice change to dispense of the formalities.
One by one the riders took off on their bikes, disappearing over the brow of the hill and then through a hole in a hedge row. I would go when I felt ready. I didn’t know when that would be.
Strangely, the lack of formalities presented me with a bit of a dilemma. No one else seemed too bothered. My brother gassed his bike up and disappeared with the rest of them. Coloured blobs amongst blue exhaust smoke noisily blasting away from the parking area to the start and then up the hill.
My brother knew what to expect around the next corner, he’d spent time with this local farm owner setting the track up.
I hadn’t, for once.
I was left until last, by my own choice. I let everyone else go ahead of me. That was the dilemma I now faced. The lack of formalities meant that there was no structure as to who went in what order and when.
Everyone just chose a convenient time and off they went.
Leaving it until I would be the last one to go would – in my mind, overcome that dilemma as best as I could figure out in the small amount of time to be found. Let everyone go, sort themselves out, and I would mop up behind them.
Yes, that’s how I would approach this. I let them all go.

It felt good to twist the throttle wide open and blast away without the need to either concentrate on an elastic start cord ahead of the front wheel which when sprung by the starter would release us all into a frenzy of men and machinery into one tight corner all together.
Many had been the time when during those starts I had gone down amongst the bikes in the first corner and ended up as a stationary obstacle in a heap on the ground.
There’d been many good ones too.
This start was more enduro like, except no one was timing us. In that respect I eased up on the tension within myself and settled down, enjoying myself in the mud and the grass and the hills.

Sooner rather than later I was passing riders that had come cropper to the ground conditions. Bikes laying on the floor with riders in various states of lying on the floor too, getting up off the ground, pulling their bikes up from the ground and re-starting all over.
These riders had played their part for me already, alerting me to probable dodgy conditions at that point. I was mopping up.

Further and further into the course layout the ground conditions worsened. The rain had held off so far today and allowed for some break from it. For all the riders who had fallen since the start though, they were paying the price for over enthusiastic involvement on a track that due to all the recent rain was a little bit soggy. Unbeknown to them they were obligingly helping me. Thanks guys, for the clear indication of precarious under the wheel conditions. It was bloody funny actually. There was nothing sordid in allowing them to be the indicator of what lay ahead. It was they who blasted away from the pits area leaving me behind. It was they who were all covered in mud even before falling off their bikes, what with debris thrown up from the back wheel of the rider ahead of each and every one of them. My decision to go last was inspired.

The track wound its way around the farm using all the natural obstacles available to provide a real challenge for the track’s intended purpose. Enduro courses are not designed to be easy.
I found myself congratulating my brother on constructing such a challenging track. For a fun day he hadn’t veered from his usual approach and had along the way used all the awkward parts of the farm to ride through. The easy sections that had sometimes been included in past events, plus the stand alone moto-x track at the farm had only partially been included.
With this I was impressed and at the same time anxious all over again. Today was going to show the men from the boys. There were those that had turned up in their glamourous and huge camper vans whereby the bike came from within. Complete with all the wash facilities included, tools to overhaul a bike in its entirety and a compliant wife in tow who would do everything that the rider chose not to. A show of confidence was a sure way to get the better of any anxiety and here with these guys, well, they had it all. How more confident did you need to be.

I’d slid around the corners and bends and enjoyed ripping the throttle open at any opportunity to get the back wheel in broadslide to the front one. The fun factor was off the scale, as riding speedway style was the only way to ride mud – and I loved it.
After covering a large amount of the track I came around a corner from off of a hardened road surface to reveal a long trail of stationary riders in a queue. A mixture of smoke and steam was hung over the queue as all the riders waited in turn to cover whatever obstacle ahead of them that was causing the wait.
A revolution of the modern combustion engine in an off road motorcycle was also its curse at times like this. Water cooling, although an aid to a more powerful and quieter engine, had a nasty habit of overheating when the air was not passing through the cooling system in a forward motion. The consequence of that was a cloud of steam.
I took my turn in the queue and switched the engine to off even though my bike was air cooled. The queue wasn’t moving at all fast. Riders who I had passed in a fallen state were catching me up now and taking their turn in the queue behind me. It was one long snake like mix of men and bikes and obnoxious fumes.

There were many riders, bunching up closer and closer as we got nearer to the bulge that signified the end of the queue. This in turn had the effect of hiding the obstacle; the culprit causing this stand still havoc being out of view until closing right up to it. On the approach I wondered what it could be. I’d been lost in my own thoughts whilst idle in the queue.
We were all lined up alongside the edge of the field. Barbed wire fencing was acting as the deterrent from getting too close to the water on the other side of it. The ditch was doing its job, that was for sure. The times I’d been down to this place and I’d never seen water like it, rushing down the ditch in a fast flowing stream of evacuated water from the hills and the fields. The ditch water was a good three feet deep and the width of the ditch was double that.
Intermittently, riders could be seen riding through the field on the other side of the drainage ditch, heading upwards to where the vans and cars were parked up. It never struck me at first. Seeing a rider every now and then riding up that opposite field had not registered in the way that it should have. It must have been the infrequency of it. Now that I was getting closer to the end of the queue the actual realness of it was becoming apparent. Finally, it was my turn to conquer this most unexpected of hurdles.
Here, in all its manifested glory was the culprit of this long and tiresome queue.
On the face of it, at least there was one marshal stood close by. On the other hand, he appeared of limited use.
Here, above the filled and fast running drainage stream was a bridge to enable crossing the stream to the other side.
In all my days riding …………………………………..? Whose idea of a challenge was this, I wondered all too knowingly.  
To come up with such a dangerous and ill-conceived piece of apparatus to act as a bridge to get over the stream was in my mind silly.
A piece of discarded Armco barrier from a road somewhere, long enough to stretch from one side to the other of this drainage ditch. Two channels of aluminium slots big enough for a motorcycle tyre to fit into. Anyone who didn’t know better would think this was erring on the side of dangerous. 
Riders were, upon reaching the Armco, offered an outstretched arm from the marshal stood on the other side of the ditch, as a gesture of help – as useless as it may have been, so that the rider obviously felt more comfortable about crossing the bridge. The riders were obligingly teetering across in a white knuckled display of either manly bravado or scared out of their wits, some like – soon to be me, obviously filled with fear for losing the will to stay upright halfway across; which from looking on was more than possible
Riders struggled lopsidedly and unsure. One by one they eased themselves across the Armco. Several slipped and put a foot down into thin air, as the side of the bridge didn’t act in any way big enough for a footing, it being only slightly wider than the bike itself. Luckily they blipped the throttle and were across before anything bad could have happened to them.
I laughed as I observed, I mean let’s be honest, it was fucking hilarious to watch. That marshal had probably chosen to be there for the entertainment value.

Having finally reached the obstacle it was my go to cross. I lined up my bike to slot into the channel like a Scalextric car and throttled up to cross the bridge. Stupidly and impatiently I had not taken an exaggerated loop outwards before reaching the Armco to ensure perfect alignment of the wheels to the slots, instead, just slewing the back wheel around with a twist of power and guessing that the slots had aligned. No reason why they shouldn’t
I did wonder why it was taking so long to get these bikes across this stream. My mind took this in now and used this information to ignore the ever present danger in an attempt to fast forward past it completely, therefore allowing my imagination to take over for what would be the rest of the day and how it may manifest itself.

Matter over mind  –
Unexpected and definitely for real.
Being last to get going at the start at least meant that there weren’t too many riders behind me – only those fallers that had now caught up. That was a relief.
And me being me, well my conscience was going to be aware of this.
Also, I had only the smallest of windows of opportunity right here right now.
The Armco bridge was the obstacle that faced those riders behind me.
It wasn’t an obstacle for me anymore. The obstacle for me was worse than that.

Here I was, standing in the drainage ditch, three feet deep in water. I had gone under, along with my bike. My worst fears that I had tried to ignore were now realised.
I wasn’t interested in trying to figure out what went wrong, I only knew that something had.
An experience wholly of my doing and unsure of how, quickly followed by an experience from a third dimension was yet to come
The bridge had phased me, I mean who would think of using a piece of Armco for a bridge with all its apparent and obvious shortcomings. No barriers to stop riders from falling sideways, no width to allow for a foot dab onto the floor. All said and done, I had lined my bike up to slot into the channels, or I thought I had. It’s true, I was a little impatient by the time it was my go and I had seen a few riders wobble in excruciating dread.

Once down and in the water, I was up again on my feet – fast. The mind reacted simultaneously.
The marshal stood above me on the other end of the bridge. He was looking down at me.
‘You, my friends’, I thought, ‘you have just seen…………..’
Should I laugh right here? I don’t remember it being funny.
OK, if I’m going to be honest it was proper embarrassing.

Anything else could wait, now I had to get out of there.
I was stood in the running water. My bike was under the water.
The proceeding decision was a no brainer, a slam dunkin.
The bike had to come out and no one was about to help me.
All the riders and the marshal nearby became cardboard cut-outs to my world as it was then. They didn’t move.
I couldn’t wait a second longer. The sight of my bike submersed in the water lying on its side made me regret bothering to show allegiance to the cause today.
I grabbed hold of my bike from under the water and felt nothing.
From this point on the task of retrieving the bike from the water had no feeling to it. I felt possessed by something, but with a feeling of nothing as well, if it were possible. In the weirdest moment to imagine, I lifted the bike onto the bank in one fluid motion. I felt at that moment in time, possessed by a force so huge that I didn’t feel a part of it. The effort required to get that bike out of the water was not to be under estimated.
There was no pain, no strain. It was like lifting a sack of potatoes from the floor. But that was an impossibility surely? The bike had no way of self-levitating. There was only myself within touching distance of it.
There was no effort needed apart from the mental act of embracing the idea and ensuring my actions were to convert the idea into practice.
It was like an out of body experience. I was left wondering.
My bike was now lying on the bank about four feet higher than a few seconds earlier. No one else had helped.
‘Thanks for nothing, you lot’, I imaginarily gesticulated to all the cardboard cut-outs watching. Not an ounce of decency to help me out. I was on my own.

I had my bike out of the water now.
I scrabbled onto the bank, out of that running water. The harder I moved the more slippery the bank became.
That would be an injustice to watch the bike slide back into the stream again.
Once safely on the bank and above the bike, I heaved it further from the stream. I felt the effort required by now as the weight of the bike began to feel like the deadweight it was.
The marshal all of a sudden sprang into action. It was all a bit too late for that. Still, I could see it from his point of view.
From my point of view, I just experienced the most amazing spectacle, and all of my doing.
That was before any type of shock took hold.
I could feel the exertion of the fete achieved. I was puffing and inhaling with a heart rate that was through the roof.
Once I had the bike on a level surface and standing upright, I flopped across the saddle bodily, arms loose and akimbo to the floor on one side and stood by wobbly legs on the other.

I was aware of shock, how it grabs hold. I’d been spread over my bike for a few minutes and had my breathing back under control – sort of. It was time to get moving.
I didn’t want to be at this event any longer. I was wet through, cold and shivering. My feet were squelching in puddles of water trapped inside my boots.
The marshal had long since disappeared and I was on my own.
Thank god the parking area wasn’t that far away, I could see it from where I now was. It was uphill into the next field. That would be a struggle, getting the bike from here to there. I would have to push it there. That should warm me up a bit.

I was just another fallen rider along the way. Bikes passed me on their way up to the park area where the track layout allowed for a return to the start of the track and around again.
All those riders that had watched me fall must have passed me by now and those that were still passing would be unaware of the events leading up to me pushing my bike back. It wasn’t so embarrassing anymore.
When I reached the park area I pushed my bike to where my brother’s van was and flipped the side stand down. I sunk to my knees and started to pull bits of bike apart with the small amount of tools I had on my waist belt.
My brother turns up and we start to talk. He has more tools than I so I’m able to work quicker. He helps.
The seat comes off, the spark plug comes out, the air filter gets removed. We drain the carburettor float bowl. My brother has got some gearbox oil too, so I drain the sump.
The oil drops out from the sump and looks like milk. It would, oil and water mixed makes milky looking fluid.
The gearbox gets some fresh oil and after an exchange between my brother and myself, I grab the bike and run around the parking area with it in gear without a spark plug or air filter. Hopefully any remaining water gets dispelled through the empty spark plug hole and the back end of the carburettor.
I get back to the van after knackering myself out by running around pushing the bike for no apparent purpose to any onlooker. Without a spark plug all the compression was gone so it wasn’t even as if I was trying to bump start it, and it would have looked that way too.
I put a spark plug back into the engine and replaced the air filter.
For the first time since dropping into the drainage ditch I climb back over my bike.
Using the kick starter I summons up enough energy to try to kick the engine back into life. I get off the bike without trying.
I was proper fucked.
I asked my brother to do the honours and so he gets over the bike and it starts up straight away.
Well, if that isn’t the best thing I’ve seen all day.

Me and my brother talk again and he suggests I keep going. I say ‘no’. He says “yes, it’ll spur you on, besides, it would warm you up too”.
I say “no. I’m not just wet, I’m wearing wet clothes. My boots are filled with water. I’m going home”.
He capitulates. There was no point in arguing.
My brother wishes me safe journey home.

The Great Escape –
I’m out of there. I should have listened to my inner voice. What was I thinking.
Yes, I was cold, and yes, I was shivering. But yes, I was on my way home. It actually felt good. I was ten miles or so from home and all I had to do was ride back there. Easy.
Once at the main road I chose to go the most direct route back. The feeling now was one of relief.
Although the most direct route from that farm was by country lanes and a couple of ‘A’ road stretches, there were short cuts available should I choose to use them. Such was the advantage to riding an off roader bike homologated for the road; a cross country track along the way was doable with the added benefit of not only a short cut, but a fun bit along the way too.
I headed for a road with a known off road track branching off of it that would cut my journey down a fraction by taking out the main ‘A’ road part of what would be the alternative journey home; which I would otherwise have to take. My chosen route in my head would be down the off road track which would connect more or less (give or take a mile or so) straight to another off road track virtually to the front door at home.
Once reaching this known off road track of my choosing, I fell back into my bubble of contented off road riding. The cold didn’t bother me anymore, neither did the wet. I was halfway home now and soon I would get this clobber off and be back to normal in no time.

Everything was becoming enjoyable again. There did seem to be a point to today after all. That negative feeling apparent before I started out today must have been due to that very same incident of falling off the bike in a really stupid way. Fete you might say. What else?
I was blessed with all this good luck; being able to ride my bike back home again, after dropping it into a drainage ditch full of running water was as good as it could get, surely? Things could have been a whole lot worse. Who would have thought that just an hour earlier I would be thinking of having a pretty relaxed outlook right now. I certainly hadn’t.

I wasn’t too close to home yet, but not far to go now. It was close enough that it felt like home already.
I was virtually singing to myself, feeling quite happy. It was a no brainer; taking the main road home? Not on your nelly. It was only ever going to be the rough unmade track. There was no housing down this track. Only woods, trees and bracken were either side leaving the ride down it and a feeling of freedom. And it was free too. A genuine sense of zero restrictions riding down a off road track that made the connection between road and home.
It wasn’t direct, I knew that. I knew there was a river at the end of it. I also knew there was a bridge that went all the way across the river to the other side. What’s to worry about. I felt safe enough. There was a water crossing to be made, but so what. I wasn’t stupid. The reminder of rivers and the act of crossing them was all too real right now.
In some ways it was a challenge if anything. I’d been teased and broken earlier today. I wasn’t about to let another river crossing get the better of me. I felt strong enough now to show the world I was not beaten. Besides, there was a bridge and far form taking the easy route out, who could blame me today. I would look a wimp maybe, if there were folk here and about. I didn’t care for their thoughts.

Soon enough I made it to the end of the track. The river water was high. That was to be expected. Here I was sat on my bike at the end of the off road track and the river ahead of me looked quite daunting in fact. Picturesque too if you were a tourist, or even a local out for a walk. There was nothing inviting about the river water. There was plenty inviting about the bridge.