Trials Blog - A bad luck sandwich
The voice mail message went something like “Mike, it’s Nige. I’ve just got back from the Doctor’s. I was struggling to walk on Monday and by Tuesday couldn’t stand on my right leg. The Doctor thinks I have torn my anterior cruciate ligament. It’s pretty bad”. My poor buddy was in lots of pain and I could tell in his voice that he was mighty hacked off by the whole affair. He was to be off the bike for a minimum of 8 - 10 weeks. Then, only if his knee felt up to it, could he get back on his bike.
It actually turned out that Nige has caused an old injury to flare up because he was kick starting his bike so much. His knee just crumbled under the pressure of relentlessly bending, flexing and pushing. I was going to have to practice alone for a while. I wasn’t overly happy with the situation because I wanted us to progress together, to learn with each other and to enjoy each other’s companionship in doing so but it wasn’t to be, so I carried on without him.
Most of my time was spent at Swaine Woods. I would turn up on a Saturday or Sunday morning and have a ‘play’ rather than a practice, simply because I didn’t know what to be practicing. Then I had a turn of fortune. I met the man who would become my new mentor, Gareth.
Without being asked Gareth really took me under his wing. 
Gaz taught me how to ride my bike; he would spend hours walking me through the basics of balance, slow and tight turning and turning on a hill. He would have me winding around tight trees, weaving in and out. He would set up mini sections for me to try and talk me through what to do before I got on the bike. He would demonstrate, watch, follow, praise, reprimand, cajole. He was just what I needed. Thank God for Gareth, because if it wasn’t for him I don’t think I would have moved on at all!
Over just 4 weekends Gaz had given me a huge burst of confidence and there was no stopping me. Well, I’m a bit hasty in saying that because something did stop me.
During a trip to a venue I hadn’t been to before my new found confidence got the better of me. I had a go at riding a double step. Nothing too dramatic though, perhaps 4 feet in height with 2 steps of 2 feet and, according to the people I was with, well within my capability. I had people there to catch me so went for it. I got up first time. Wow! What a rush. I had a second go and got up but felt it was nowhere near as clean as the first attempt. On the 3rd go I got it all wrong. 
My front wheel managed to almost lodge itself in the pit of the ever-so-sightly undercut rock and, as the forks compressed, my left hand flew off the handlebars. I still had hold of my bike by the throttle and the bike flew up vertically, then swung round and bounced off the rock and set off, on its own down the hill.
My left wrist immediately began to swell, telling me that something wasn’t right. I thought it was just a sprain but 3 weeks later, being unable to grip; I took a trip to the local hospital. X-Rays confirmed that I have broken the scaphoid bone in my left hand. I have to be off the bike for 13 straight weeks.
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