Of legends are us.a as a

River crossing –
I reached the end of the unmade road track. I felt fairly happy with myself. A fail to finish from the fun ride enduro earlier and a fall into a drainage ditch full of water, (although spoiling my day), hadn’t completely ruined my confidence. Here I was sat on my bike with the engine running. Next up in front of me; where the unmade off road track comes to an end, is a river. Quite a large one at that.

The weather had improved as the day went along. Whereby the sunshine had began to poke through the clouds and then displayed not only some rays but some unexpected warmth, the brighter than expected day had apparently brought the day trippers outside.
The end of the off road track held no surprises, I knew this track well. This was a river crossing in the format of a ford. Basically a river in the way of forward progress.  I didn’t know any fords f that stood out as being larger, and during regular county wide and beyond – trail ride outings, we had come across a few. This one was big.
Folk were wondering around here and there, taking in the scenic views.

There was a similar unmade track to that which I was parked up on at that moment over on the opposite side of the river. That similar unmade track, of which ran down from the main village road and then sloped down to the river, then also disappeared into it. That gravel track over on the other side of the river was one that suited itself well to a parking area due to its wide size. It was used by anyone venturing out to this area for a lazy Sunday afternoon walk.
The two tracks on either side of the river were, to an uneducated eye, connected. To someone who had crossed this ford, the very opposite to that is known to be the case. The two tracks are not connected at all, at least not in a made up track configuration.
However, the tracks did serve a practical purpose, one that was sure to attract a lot of attention if there at the right time.
The farmer, whose fields span both sides of the river, used the ford to good purpose, as one might find out if stood there long enough. Sometimes the farmer lets his cows wonder through the river to get from one side of the river to the other.
The cows love it. Up to their bellies in refreshing water. Get a slurp of fresh drinking water at the same time. Have a bit of a splash and a lark around, come out at the other end like a new cow.

River ford –
I’d been to a river ford in Devon which wasn’t as wide. I’d crossed that in my Land Rover and nearly sunk it. I was lucky that the Land Rover found some grip when I thought there was none to be had after the driver’s side took a sudden dive down a hole that I didn’t know was there. I was lucky.
I’d also on some previous occasion driven my Land Rover across this ford here, such was the draw of it for me. Without realising it back then (I’d never crossed it before that time) the water was higher than I thought it would be, myself not knowing what the characteristics of the river bed were.
The memory of that day when I crossed this ford in the Land Rover was crystal clear.
Similar to today, back then there were day trippers all over the place and when I turned up at the water’s edge in the Land Rover, all attention swung around to my direction. The onlookers could sense some entertainment for free. It’s not every day whilst out for a walk at and using a certain river bridge that a vehicle would turn up to drive across the river below it.

As there is no dedicated track under the water, there is then merely a river bed.
In the middle of the span of river the ground drops off. Under the water the ground slopes gently in and gently out the other side with a deeper bit in the middle. The base was loose stones all along.
The river was well known for its fast flow, aided in some way by the angle of the river bed. The water had a scary current of under tow – not visible to the naked eye.
Today the water was high. I could see it was high, as the surface of the water was visibly closer to the floor of the bridge. It was a walkers delight for a Sunday afternoon. Just go for an amble across the foot bridge and stand around gawping into the fast flowing water that was running just below the floor of the bridge.

After much consideration whilst sat on my bike at the river’s edge my mind came back to the realisation that there’s only really one way across the water today, and that’s the bridge.
I sat there on my bike looking over to the other side of the river to where most of the day trippers and walkers were coming from.
Folk making the most of a bit of dry weather with a bit of sunshine thrown in for good measure. And good for them too. I would be doing the same if I weren’t sat here on my bike, wet through and cold.
Let’s face it, that celestial orb in the sky had been a game changer today. Nowhere to be seen earlier on, now showing up for an un-forecast appearance.
A hopelessly rubbish spell of Gulf stream swish had been leaning hard on the country with flow after flow of heavy and threatening cloud; which was gladly missing so far today.
The longer I sat there the more conscious I became that these folk had spotted me on an off road motorcycle on the other side of the river to where they were. I may have looked threatening even, to them – who knows. It wasn’t a normal sight.
Parents were turning up to walk their kids in peace and quiet alongside a river where if they got lucky they might even spot a fish. They weren’t going to be happy with me sat there, all out of place.
How were they to know what was going through my mind. How were they to know that apart from a brief high whilst making my way to where I now was, I was for the larger part waterlogged and feeling pretty miserable.
Sooner or later something was going to have to give.
It wasn’t that I could sense anything from the gathering folk on the other side of the river, nor those that were now on the footbridge too. It was more a case of thinking along the lines that they may well be expecting something to happen with this lone motorcycle rider. Surely he must be there for some reason. Why would he just be sat there passing the time of day. That makes no sense

Or was I just being paranoid. They couldn’t see my face. They didn’t know what lay behind the goggles and the full face crash helmet. If they knew what I looked like beneath the layers of disguise …. Perhaps that’s what they needed; to see what it was that was just sitting there in silence. I wasn’t intending to be threatening. I was here first. the thought of being judged made me feel worse. Judging me by appearance was to be expected I suppose though, assuming they were. A strange and lone biker. Maybe they were thinking ‘Come on lone biker, ride across the river. We’re waiting.’

If I could only make a decision. For the love of ………… I needed to soon just to escape the gathering crowd, for yes, there was now a veritable crowd of onlookers. Not just a few. My confidence was ebbing. Just to be in the same general area as this lot left me feeling a bit at odds. My mind was now unable to make a simple decision. The distraction of people nearby was not how I envisaged my trip home. There seemed to have been more options on my way to get this far. Now they had minimised to just a few.
Yes, the footbridge over the river at the end of this track would seem to signify a walkers right of way. There was no doubting that. It was also a crossing point on the other hand.
The fact that I was on a motorbike was surely irrelevant.
I focused on the day trippers and consciously imagined in my mind a kind of thought transference language, as if that was going to work. I wanted them to know there wasn’t a road here. From nowhere my mind raced backwards through time and I found myself dredging up memories from yesteryear. All manner of incidents that had occurred while I had been working on the farm.

Back to reality, I felt my conscience pricked a little, for sure. I also felt within my rights to use the track. Now though, the track was at an end.
The day trippers and walkers could sense something too. Entertainment would be my first guess.
Why would a lone motorcyclist be sat there on the side of a river, just looking into space. What was he doing there?
The feeling of expectation was unbearable to the point whereby I felt like I had to get on with it, just do something.
Like the gun draw at the OK corral, something had to break first. I suppose for the onlookers the fact that I was sat on a bike with an engine still running was a dead cert for something going to happen.
I looked at them, they looked at me. They were all over the bridge. They hadn’t, or didn’t, leave me enough room to ride past on the bridge. That would be dangerous anyway, I wouldn’t be within my rights to do that. I could walk the bike over though. That was perfectly within my rights.
As the atmosphere heated up, so did the density of folk collecting.
Oh well, time was ticking by, I needed to get home.
Oh well, ‘Fuck em! Fuck the lot of them.’ Ride to live, live to ride, or something like that.

I engaged the clutch and eased the bike into the water.
I could feel the tension, you could almost cut it with a knife.
I was going to go forwards a bit before I headed back out, sort of loop around. It would be hilarious. They would expect something and I knew all along that they wouldn’t be getting that which they expected.
I was prepared to swallow the embarrassment that would follow as I pushed my bike across the footbridge. Hopefully they would move aside for me in  allowing me at least that small amount of dignity.

The bridge over troubled waters –
In the water, then out again. I rode my bike back up the bank. A good tactic to enable me to get another look at the bridge entrance, just to refresh my memory. If I remembered rightly; ‘an unusual entrance to a bridge for sure.’ A big vertical drop off from the bridge created a step maybe double the height or more of a normal step.
I stopped the bike once again and with feet on the floor took in the display ahead. A metal archway signifying the beginning of the bridge. A bridge now full of people all along. The ground on the step off from the bridge itself looked as though it had dropped over the decades. It would be a steep climb getting the bike over that step. I had power through the engine to make it easy so not a major problem. The problem was the amount of people on the bridge.
Things felt a little like they were getting out of hand now. I had come up with a plan and it didn’t suit anymore. Funnily, I didn’t consider turning around and heading off the way I had arrived from down the track.
My mind was all a quandary.  To make a simple and correct decision seemed beyond me. I just wanted to get home as quickly as I could.
I throttled up and headed straight for the river water and rode right on in. This would be the quickest way home I decided.
The gathering crowd were certainly going to get a their display. They’d waited all this time wondering what was going through the lone rider’s mind.
I wasn’t powered up too much on the throttle, just enough to make headway. The water was too high to go at speed. I ploughed on in. I noticed the bough wave ahead of the front wheel as I went further and further into the water.

The Great Escape –
Was this a stupid idea or what. As if I hadn’t had enough of daring antics for one day as it was. There you were only this morning in a three foot ditch full of water, upside down with a drowned bike. You get yourself out without any help from anyone because everyone else is only interested in watching. You manage against stacked odds by means that have yet to be established – because I’m sure I don’t know how I managed. I didn’t know how I ended up in teh bottom of that ditch  either come to that. Not like now. Voluntarily riding straight into a river where the water was way too high. Goodness knows about the current underneath the surface. I’d had a choice, but I ended up making this decision. What must I have been thinking? I could have gone home by the road – easy peasy. Just double back and ride back the way I came from the original track entrance. Why hadn’t that idea been present a few moments ago? There was a choice of two options and I chose this one. Over the bridge or through the river. OK, the bridge was full of people. Fair comment. Fair enough then that I go this way – surely. But what about the track, I didn’t think about that.
Maybe because it would make me look like a looser. Lets face it, this was a challenge for fucking sure. There must be some good to come of it let’s hope. On a plus side, for one I didn’t feel any wetter than I had before, now that I was deep into the river. Maybe I’d get a round of applause when I reach the other side. Maybe this was all about giving the people what they wanted after sitting there looking like a loony for so long. He who dares wins, and all that. Maybe a part of this was showing that it was possible to ride through an angry river, and after that I would just have to see how things were.

As the water got deeper, so the current became stronger. All the folk on the bridge were watching with anticipation. Hopefully they were convinced they were watching a confident rider who knew all the tricks. The long wait was just part of the show.
No, that was not the case.
They were watching a rider who had lost all his confidence now. The options had whittled down to one and this was it.

Something started to feel a little strange after a short ride through the water. The front wheel felt like it was going the wrong way. I was steering this way and the front wheel had gained a mind of its own by drifting the other way. It was slight to begin with, at the point in time where I felt it. A bit more power and a bit more opposite directional pull should be enough to overcome this weird drift. The funny thing is it didn’t feel like a loss of control. It didn’t feel like anything I had encountered before. I couldn’t work out the issue so I couldn’t work out the solution. I’m not prepared to give up easily. In my mind’s eye I could see a river bed of loose stones. That should be easy enough to ride through. Anywhere else it wouldn’t even be a factor worth considering.
Despite a rubbish day so far my mind felt as alert as it should be now. Too late though to turn around and head back the way I came. At best the only way out was to carry on. There was no going back.
I was in the deep part. The water was high this day. The current was strong even when the water was shallow. It had to be the current. I worked even harder at the controls to outwit the powerful force of unstoppable water.
But it was all too little too late.
The front wheel was lost now. Lost in the water, the stones and the current. I dabbed down quick with my feet to save the bike and try to pull it away from the river’s intended pull. As soon as I jabbed down on the river bed and pulled the bike up to realign it in the direction I wanted to go, the acting forces worked to against it. The bike having now lost its contact with the ground and along with the force of the current, knocked me off my feet. I fell sideways into the river along with my bike.
I was unaware of the reaction of the viewers. I pulled myself up and stood in the river. Once again I grabbed my bike and yanked it out of the water to stand it upright.
Now I was aware of the people on the bridge.
I could almost cry with frustration, standing there in the middle of the river with a drowned motorbike. A bunch of unknown people watching me. I felt sure that if I was to hear anything it would be folk laughing.
I was angry now. It was my own stupid fault. Why didn’t I listen to my conscience . I could have done this a different way.
Now more than at any time today, I had to take stock. Earlier, the dip in the drainage ditch was unforeseen. I could accept that as a mistake. This river excursion was plain stupid. Accepting that was harder.

The only thing that mattered to me now was going home. I was several miles away from home. I had a drowned motorbike and I would have to push it all the way. I still had to push my bike out of the river. I figured I could do that without falling in. It wasn’t easy, but I could do it.
If ever the bridge was an option, it wasn’t now. So I was going to have to wade through the water. I didn’t take my crash helmet off. The anonymity afforded by it suited me. I even left my goggles in place.
As in earlier during the day when pushing my bike up to the enduro track parking area and I had felt embarrassed, (what with the riders who had seen me come off the Armco bridge then passing me pushing my bike), so again I felt embarrassed at having to pass by these folk who had watched the events unfold before their very eyes. Funny thing though, there wasn’t a single offer of help of any sort. No one came forward for assistance. Was that because they simply didn’t know me? Was it because the actual realness of it in their minds separated them from me, like it was my show so leave me to it.

Time dragged, and the bike dragged. Nothing was easy about this long push home. Pushing a deadweight through a river with a strong current, albeit a bike on wheels, was more difficult than I had expected. Was there no end to the sheer lunacy I find myself in this day. Every unseen large stone on the river bed lying in wait to cause yet more irritation. The constant power of the water surging along on its unstoppable way. I was wet and uncomfortable.

I pushed my bike out of the river and once at the top of the track where the track meets the main road I stopped. I had to take a long rest. Mentally I was beaten.
The exertion was huge. To get this far had taken it out of me like no scramble or enduro ever had.
A reality check necessitated the need to get going and walk back home. Steam was rising from my clothing, warming me up to the point of overheating. I soon got used to walking in boots filled with water. I accepted all of what was involved with pushing my bike back home as a stupid mistake brought on by a lapse in straight thinking. Fuck the cold, fuck the wet and fuck the exertion. I felt strong enough to overcome all of those. I had to.
Once out of the river there was still a long hike back to home. Two miles or so. A hilly two miles at that. Wasn’t I lucky this was out in the countryside. Probably in the middle of nowhere for most folk. A special journey out for the day if you didn’t know about this place. Lucky for me then that there also wasn’t many cars around. Not many passed me by. On the tarmac the appearance of a biker pushing his motorbike along was not such a big deal. Those that did pass me by surely had no reason to wonder.
I covered the first half of the journey back to home all the while thinking I should be at home now. Every uphill gradient no matter how small became a further more required drain on my levels of endurance.
Had I taken a different route back from the enduro track all of this wouldn’t be an issue. Still, being around halfway back now, there was a feeling of achievement. Funny thing about reaching the halfway mark is that everything seems much easier.
Well it’s not. Not this day. It’s actually harder.
Here was a downhill bi coming upt. I jumped on the bike after a concerted run and freewheeled down the slope and around the corner until the bike ran out of motion. And here it was. The bottom of Broom hill.
And what is so remarkable about Broom hill?
In itself – nothing. It’s just a winding downhill road that has a junction at the bottom, where I now was holding my bike upright on the tarmac. This was where I used to drive regularly with a tractor back in my farming days. Of course I knew I was heading in this direction, that was the whole plan from the offset. This was the easiest way home I had told myself.
This hill was of much in the knowing to me. I knew it so well. Tractor driving down this hill had been every working day pretty much, back along, on the farm. This anonymous hill that on one working day on the farm I wasn’t able to drive down with the tractor because the muck spreader wheel fell off at the top off it.
I laughed to myself. I laughed so much that I almost forgot what a ridiculous situation I now found myself in. Which was the worst scenario I wondered to myself? Not being able to come down the hill because the wheel was lost, or having to push my bike up this hill.
Two separate incidents. One happened all by itself and one I made happen myself.
Yes, There had to be some good to come out of this, and here it was.
I’m happy again.
I decided that the lost wheel from the muck spreader was the worst of the two. And hence then was I able to resume my solitary and lonesome walk back home in a better frame of mind..