Woke up this morning and had a bit of a dilemma. Do I finish putting the swingarm back on? Or do I dare to face the wrath of The Missus when I take advantage of the lovely sunny day and go out riding?

Thankfully, The Missus was not as wrathful about it as I thought she'd be. I dug my enduro gear out (being thankful that I hadn't set fire to it like Oz's mate) and put it on. As soon as I put the body armour on, I realised what a massive mistake I made in Morocco - this would have saved my collarbone. I'd still have got hurt, but nowhere near as badly.

Sometimes, you don't learn anything unless the price of the lesson is high. If you get the lesson for nothing, you won't value it. I paid a high price for my lesson, and I will never again go on a bike without body armour.

I presented myself to The Missus, all fully kitted out. "So I, em, thought I might, em, take the bike out for a bit"'. Her face went the colour of chalk, then the colour of a nice ripe strawberry. She looked me up and down, saw the enduro gear. I saw her instantly transported back to the middle of the Sahara in Morocco, slinging me up - that was the last time she saw me in that gear.

We both knew that nothing short of an Act of God (any God) was going to stop me taking the bike out. We both knew that there was dangers associated with this - even though I can hold my shoulder it would not survive a fall. She gave me some of Martin's age-old wisdom: "don't fall off then". We both knew that it was time, and that I needed to do this. As I've said before, they broke the mould.

Before I went, I had to change the front brake. If you recall my last enduro (the one with the DNF and no body armour) then you'll remember that I had a dodgy front brake. I had got a new one from AJP and, thankfully, it came as a complete unit. It took less than 3 minutes to fit the whole thing.

Six months ago, I'd have been terrified to change my brakes. Three minutes of spanners, and I had a front brake that would stop an articulated lorry. I am going to call that "progress". Queen Madge II gratefully roared into life - she knew we were going out, and she was going to look after me. After all, from her point of view it wasn't her who injured me. She'd make sure I was fine.

I intended to go to that Byway that The Missus and I found a few months back. I got a few miles up the road and found some tyre tracks disappearing into the woods - all sloppy and muddy and stuff. Bingo. I started following the tracks.

As I'm riding along, negotiating the soft mud, I've got Zippy's words ringing through my ears - "any sign of trouble, give it a handful". So I did this the right way. I rode slowly, slower than normal, and gave it a handful at any sign of trouble. This meant a couple of things:

1. The bike was more responsive, since I was in the power range


2. When I sped up, I was still at a manageable speed within my limits


3. It worked

There was a couple of fallen trees across the path. When I got to these I slowed down, first gear, and practised getting the front wheel up to clear them. Did not too bad on some turns, great on others, pile of mince on the rest. Need some practice.

I stopped for a rest, and up pulled a tractor. Obviously there was a farmer in it. I approached it differently from the last time, probably because he didn't have a pick-axe handle. I smiled and said "Hello". He asked what I was doing, and I told him that I was recovering from an injury.

I said that I was following the tyre tracks, riding slowly. He said that he had been watching me for five minutes and that I was obviously being sensible. He said that he had no problem with this, but wanted to warn me not to come back with a bunch of mates. He asked me to stick to the tyre tracks, keep doing what I'm doing, and I am welcome. He used to ride trials, and understands that there's nowhere to practice.

He also told me where the Byways were - lots of them. A much different experience from before. It occurred to me that it's not where you ride, it's how you ride. I asked him if I could have another half hour or so, and he said it wasn't a problem - as long as I kept doing what I had been doing, and stayed out of the trees.

I went off in search of the Byways, and found them quickly. I also found a couple of guys out on their bikes - a KTM 525 and a Husaberg 550. We chatted for a while, they showed me their maps and where the rest of the lanes were. I called The Missus and let her know I was OK - I think she appreciated it.

Riding the Byways, about 50 miles or so, I stuck to the formula. Ride slow. Any sign of trouble, give it a handful. Don't fall off. I hit some really soft mud and things started to slide around. I did what I normally do and came offthe throttle, then realised that this was a mistake. One "handful" later, the front wheel lightened and Queen Madge II skipped through the mud like a ballet dancer on amphetamines.

Once again, bikes prove to be an excellent metaphor for life - if you're 100% committed, and you just give it a handful, then you'll get there.

I stopped for a few minutes to have a drink and a rest, and a cyclist pulled up. Name of Steve. When he wasn't mountain biking, he was flying planes. Made me think of my ITM. He had a rather cool GPS on his mountain bike, which showed all the byways and stuff. Apparently you can download it for any GPS. We chatted for a while, and then he let me go first - otherwise he's make it difficult for me since I wouldn't pass.

I did about 80 miles in total on the Byways - mud and grass and chalk - and didn't have a single spill. I could have had a few, but my new strategy of "give it a handful" seems to work. Thanks Zippy. Again.

I don't think I'm ready to race yet. Trail riding, going at your own pace and going where you want to go, is fairly safe. When you're racing, it's a different world. You're riding as fast as you can, over obstacles that you may not want to take on, and there are bikes everywhere. No racing yet, but trail riding seems to be fine.

I was surprised at how confident I was on the bike, given that the last time I was on a bike I hurt myself pretty badly.

Douglas Bader was a World War II flying ace. Everybody knows this. Everybody also knows that had both legs amputated - one above and one below the knee. Less people know that he had his legs amputated before World War II, rather than because of it. He also had a bit of an issue with authority, had his own views and nobody would tell him different. Hmm.

At an air show in 1931, he was doing some low-level aerobatics and the tip of one wing touched the ground. His plane rolled, and the resulting accident caused him to have his legs amputated. He recorded this in his diary:

"Crashed slow-rolling near ground. Bad show".

He was invalided out of the RAF - because the regulations did not cover amputees being able to fly. When war broke out in 1939, he used his connections to get him back in and he managed to get full operational flying status, despite the Powers That Be having a major problem with this. Persistence and tenacity paid off.

Strangely enough, having no legs was actually an advantage. Because of the high-G manouvres made in air-to-air combat, it cuases blood to rush from the brain to other parts of the body - especially the legs - causing pilots to black out. Since Bader had no legs, this was less of a problem - he could remain conscious for longer.

By August 1941, Bader had downed 22 German aircraft - the fifth highest total in the RAF. he himself was shot down shortly afterwards, losing one of his fake legs in the process. The German Commander who imprisoned him - Adolf Galland - notified the British of the damaged leg and offered them safe passage to deliver a replacement. So, on 18 August 1941, the British mounted Operation Leg - dropping a new leg by parachute to the prisoner of war.

As a prisoner, Bader was as much a thorn in the side of the Germans as he was when he was a pilot. He made so many attempts to escape that they threatened to take his fake legs away from him. When the American 1st Army found him in 1945, and he was transferred to Paris, he asked for a Spitfire so he could get back to the fighting. The RAF refused.

There are people who say that Bader should not have flown, that he might get hurt. Bader thought differently - he was happiest when flying and the risk of being hurt was worth it.

Next stop is Martin at AJP - "ready for trail riding now. When are we off?".

I know, I know. But let me ask you this. If you are going to have a strinking headache, would you rather that it was just a headache, or would you rather that it was the most almighty hangover after a particularly brilliant night out?

I have never, ever, claimed to be sensible. Children, please do not follow my example.

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