Inch 9
There was sea to our right but there was now sea in front of us! ‘Don’t stop you will sink’. We headed for the dry having dismissed riding through the ‘rip’ ahead as too risky. But this ‘rip’ going out had left loads of uneven sand and in we went. Riding the bumps and remembering the chap who sold me the bike ‘keep your speed up if you get into trouble.’ Onwards we bounced till finally one dip was too much and the bike had to do its first duty and get me clear. I departed through the right mirror breaking it. I landed heavy on my upper thigh on a mound in the humpy sand and immediately heard my top box land next to me having done the designed BMW stress release.
I lay still in pain. But I remembered my training at the Edge. Don’t move till you know you are OK ….. good words Harley D. Motionless still but now hearing the engine on the bike still running. It carried on and then it beeped and shut down…… I wondered if Berlin had over designed the craft not to shut down immediately in the horizontal just in case it was still being ridden.
As the pain decreased I became aware my helmet was floating in a sea puddle. The time came to test the bones with some muscle activity…… I was sore but fine.
Our top box I immediately retrieved from another puddle along with some bits that had left the bike as they stood proud in the clean sand. I got all our bits, as it turned out, standing out from this purity. Now, for the Bike itself.
A video I saw in the showroom, advertising the course I should have gone on before trying this, was the Key. I got the bike upright, as this is the first pride of a biker. I got on and the engine kicked in sure as only a German can do. But we did not move except down as the rear wheel berried itself in the quick sand.
The water inching towards us. It occurred to me to grab the camera just in case I never saw the bike again. But the ‘Divine Feminine’ and her mate where already nearing at this time.
‘Where did all this sea come from?’ I said to myself. It’s a beach you fool! I cell phoned my dealer for advice and to connect me to the recovery service quick. ‘How long have you got?’ that Duncan said. ‘An hour for the tide but the Rip will get me within 30mins.’ ‘Get some help, David, the only way is to manually lift the bike out. You can’t do it yourself!’ Duncan, I would go to war with as he is that sort of bloke, but I don’t think he really knew the plight we were in then.
At this point the Divine Feminine said ‘His bike is up but I think he is in trouble.’ As they had enough of their kite in the surf they returned to their car on the dry sands. By this time Duncan had done enough. I did the extended wave at the two and they walked from their car to me.
Introductions were minimal that is why I can’t remember the names of these heroes from Kent. She and her chosen man just got down and dug with bare hands. Squatted down in her digging she said ‘We’re off road bikers, by the way, and used to this.’ I did contribute with the lifting of 200kg but they freed the Beast. The disc brakes now completely locked the wheels with the sand and hence pushing nor propulsion mattered. They washed the brakes with the sea. Then we pushed the miss treated perfection out of the quick sand.
The Catholic, that is me, now expected forgiveness after punishment. The Devine Feminine now gave the later. Her man rode the bike to safety and without her help I carried the top box, helmet and bits myself the quarter of a mile at her divine pace to their car.
The BMW rescue service in Germany then contacted when we were, at last safe, on semi tarmac to say they did not know where I was. I told them. They said Dublin is the nearest Motorrad. I wasn’t going there! But I insisted there was one in Cork, much nearer, and I was sure as I visited just yesterday.