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[ST] {ST] How riding Triumph can save your life - a true story.



Morning all.  Finding it a tad difficult to
concentrate on work this a.m., hence list activity. I
have this very odd feeling my bike might have saved my
life last night.  Here's the story.

My route home takes me down Commercial Road and on to
the one -way system at Aldgate in London, which some
of you might know.  It involves a 180 degree right
hander away from some lights, before flcking left to
go down to Tower Bridge.  Usually a bit of fun,
especially if you go from red, because the road's
clear and the racing line is available.  Not so last
night - away from the lights, flick over to the right,
to see stationary car with doors open, a big pile of
junk behind it...and a body in the road - all on the
racing line, natch.  Brake, swerve, hordes of caged
brethren sweep past like lemmings - no surprises
there. Recalling the old adage about bikers being the
social workers of the road, I pull in to see what's
up.  Guy in the road's head is leaking badly, and
there is a terrific smell of petrol in the air. He is
conscious and responds, and carefully I put my arms
around him to get him to his feet. He is clearly in
quite bad shape, and out of his tree on Class A drugs.
 We stagger upright, and he starts rummaging around in
the pile of junk, which is soaked in petrol.

I ask him if he needs any help, and offer to call an
ambulance.  At this point, someone shouts across to me
that they have called the police.  Bad move, if well
- -intentioned.

Your man gets very agitated, pulls a gun and waves it
in my general direction, making it totally clear that
I get shot if the Police turn up. Brain in overdrive
computes three risks:  (1)I get run over by caged
brethren if I stay where I am (2) I get shot if I make
a sudden move (3) I go up in flames if gun turns out
to be cigarette lighter, because there's petrol all
over the place. (For those of you Stateside, last week
or thereabouts, the police shot a guy in London
brandishing a gun-shaped cigarette lighter, so the
fear is somewhat topical.)

Having done my time as a duty lawyer visiting various
derelicts in police cells at ungodly hours of the
night, I remember that in situations like this you
just keep talking, and be non-threatening.  So...make
reassuring conversation about just being a biker,
trying to help, he's obviously in a bad way, did he
ever ride a motorcycle (he's wearing a beaten-up
leather jacket a la Marlon Brando).  

Light of recognition sparks in poor guy's eyes... "oh
yeah, my grandad used to have an old Triumph, I used
to ride on the back when I was a kid".  A break! 
Someone up there loves me! "Hey, look...that's what
I've got", say I "but a  bit newer than your
grandad's".  

At this point, he looks at the bike, sees the name and
bursts into tears, mumbles stuff about me being a
diamond geezer, and throws his arms around me.  Very,
very carefully, I remove gun from his grasp, and hold
him, weeping on my shoulder for what seemed like a
long, long time until the police arrive.  I hand him
over, and ride home, slowly, aware of my utter
insignificance in the general scheme of things.  It
had not been a fag lighter after all. 

There, that feels better.

Let's be careful out there!

Kevin (Reservoir Dawg)
99 ST
London
  



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