It had started out a bit misty so a rapid run down to breakfast was the best idea, give the sun a chance to appear and burn the stuff off. Sure enough half a dozen bacon and eggs later the sun arrived and it was all lovely and warm.

For some time now we've been trying to ride a snikey little road that Dave, and only Dave, knows. It has some obscure access from a ghastly motorway - OK if you know exactly where you have to turn off, but if not you wind up travelling 50 miles in the wrong direction looking for somewhere to turn round.

Unfortunately our attempts to reach this particular delight have all been thwarted either by natural occurrences (rain, rain or rain) or unnatural occurrences like blown ignition fuses or unscheduled departures from tumbling motorcycles.

Anyway, this time all was looking good. The sun was shining, we had loads of time and we were heading in the right direction. 'Course, it couldn't last. We really needed our specialist navigator David once we had reached the general area ... only he knows the secret location of Snikey Lane. But fate decreed a different course of action for him.

So there we are, poodling along a nice bendy bit of road, not a care in the world. I am leading at this point just to make sure we reach the right bit of England before David takes over for the specialist knowledge bit.

Bopping out of a right hander I come upon a Landrover, complete with rusty old trailer, about to turn right across my path. Doing the decent law abiding thing he waits for me to pass, and as I toodle on my way I glance in my mirror to check the chaps behind. Hmm, no-one there, better slow down a bit and let 'em catch up.

Righto, I'll slow down a bit more. Not sure I like this, I'm doing 3mph and nobody has appeared behind me. Then "Bwaarm" - Pops comes past twiddling his hand in the air, indicating that either his glove has developed some rotational defect all of its own or we should turn round. I hate these "turn round" scenarios ... it usually means we're going back to piles of broken plastic and flashing blue lights, not to mention bodies scattered about the undergrowth.

My suspicions that this "turning around" we were doing was somehow connected with the Landrover avec rusty trailer were confirmed on arrival at the scene.

Although matey driving the thing had been decent enough to wait for me to pass, he had neglected to do the same for poor old David behind. Dave had done his best to avoid the Landrover as it crossed his path, but the introduction of a clapped out trailer attached to its rear end rather reduced his options of avoidance. He nearly made it, but his front wheel just clipped the manky bit of rusty old angle iron that made up the rear offside corner of said trailer, exploding his front tyre.

This wouldn't have been necessarily terminal, but it rather deflected the bike into the side of the Ford Sierra waiting behind the Landrover. Cannoning into the Sierra, Dave's front brake lever got a bit tangled up in its wing mirror, which jammed the bike's front brakes into full-on mode. Now, David was mounted on his Honda SP1, and every fuel kno that they have just about the best front brakes going at the moment ... so the pursuing riders were treated to David performing the most amazing stoppie in extremis.

Performing such a feat with a completely flat front tyre could be a bad idea, but David was in the (arguably) fortunate position of being jammed between the trailer and the Sierra, so his progress continued in a forward rather than sideways direction. Somehow he stayed on the bike until the bitter end. Dunno how he managed to stop, as when I came to move the bike a bit later there were no front brakes at all - the pads had been rammed back into the callipers by severe flapping of the forks .. eek!

Luckily David suffered no more than a hurt finger and slight bruising to his arm and pride. Mind you, he'll probably wake up tomorrow morning and find about a hundred other little damaged bits.

He needs analysing, not breathalysing!

Embarrassment was heaped upon embarrassment when the police and ambulance crews turned up. They were the same crowd that attended our last couple of "offs" (such a small word for such a lot of carnage). Oh, the shame of it all. They even recognised us! "Hasn't he lost weight" commented the paramedic about David! This really isn't acceptable, one shouldn't be so well known to the emergency services that they realise you've lost a pound or two!

As a final insult, when the recovery truck turned up the driver yelled "Hello again, you lot. Who's fallen of this time?!"

These Honda SP1s may have taken Colin Edwards to the WSB title, but they don't seem to last too well on the road - leastways not when David's on 'em.

Nope this has got to stop ... IT'S NOT FUNNY ANY MORE!

A word of thanks to our sponsors ...

We may all slag off plod for chasing us and nicking us for our 'safe and totally-in-control' on-bike antics, but we ought to say here how decent they were after the last few wipe-outs. Helpful and reasonable when they coulda launched into long lectures on safe riding etc. Also, grateful thanks to the medics for patching us up without any complaint or judgement - none of this "Ooh, motorbikes are so dangerous, you deserve it" crap. What would you do without us?