The KO Kid!
By TMX Archives on 18th May 04
YOU KNOW, I constantly joke about my participation in this incredible sport of ours - and I'm sure to many the fact that I'm still taking part is in itself a laughable matter. YOU KNOW, I constantly joke about my participation in this incredible sport of ours - and I'm sure to many the fact that I'm still taking part is in itself a laughable matter. I'm only 31 yet already I get that whispering demonic voice in my head saying 'you're too old for this ***t'! Looking at the RTT Honda team posters you'd certainly think so. If they'd got Kirk Douglas decked out in THOR kit the outcome would've shown a more youthful exuberance - even after the stroke.I've had 25 out of 31 years of over-indulgence on my right wrist...careful! I'm referring to twisting the throttle - albeit gently - and in that time I've never broken a limb, blown out a knee or dislocated a shoulder or hip. I have, however, taken rocks in the face and have had a quarry's worth of dirt in my eyes.Believe it or not I've actually only knocked myself out five times, I think (my memory isn't what it once was). Only three times has it been due to crashing a motorcycle. The other times were when I cut myself at work and while running to get to the sink I tripped over the tool box and launched my cueball noggin into the side of the fridge (my mate came running into the kitchen and thought I'd ended it all such was the grim reality of fitting windows)!Another was when I was trying to impress Steve Geall with my BMX handling skills. I said I'd hit the first jump flat out and that's exactly how I ended up. My only other unplanned blackout was on a Friday night - which made a change from the planned one - and it involved the opposite species (the opposite species - what, a chicken? - SL) but that was a terribly sordid affair.My sixth and most recent KO came at round two of the British championships at Lyng. It's not the fact that I dislike the place, the fact is that I despise the place. Actually that's not true, the circuit is excellent and the club have got their eye on the ball. It all comes down to the fact that every time I travel to Lyng it's the day that Lady Luck discovers I still owe her money, laces up her DMs and does her best Johnny Wilkinson impression on me chimes.Yet strangely I always return, maybe I should listen to the noises being made in my head before I try silencing them by beating my brain stupid. I wasn't spark out for very long this time but I certainly didn't know where I was for a while. Mind you, I get that feeling quite often.Y'know, the most comical thing about the accident was as I came around the first thing I heard was a fan (someone else's) saying from behind the fence, "that's Perrett - he crashed just along there last year"! I feel like such an underachiever. I failed to make the 750 yards I accomplished last year before burying my head deep into Norfolk. I'd probably make it further doing hillclimbs on my C90. I could of course be positive and say at least I beat my personal worst of 15 yards - ah what a race that was!I do remember Rick Johnson preaching on his 'Profile of a Champion' video to turn any negatives into positives and maintain a positive mental attitude but that's kinda difficult when the little man making noises in my head is trying to punch his way out of my skull.So that was Lyng, a round journey of 500 miles for what we later calculated - taking into account my speed, distance covered and wind resistance - to be a grand total of 16 seconds of racing.There's proof right there that this is the greatest sport. I could've stayed at home, propped the sofa up with a broom handle, tied the broom handle to the dog, placed my head underneath the propped up sofa and then got someone to ring the doorbell and still got the same outcome. It wouldn't have been quite the same though, obviously. For one I wouldn't have sprained both my wrists if I'd done it that way - but at least they took the pain in my head away for a while.I felt a bit like one of my heroes, Doug Henry, because I couldn't undo my busted up lid, just like he couldn't when he snapped both his forearms. Although I obviously wasn't experiencing the same pain, only the embarrassment of a few of the UK's top MX photographers catching my discomfort on their flashy digital cameras. Ray Archer reckoned I looked like Albert Steptoe after the crash. After the crash? I've been told that I looked like him before the crash as well!If he'd thought I'd looked white then, he should have seen me on the way home. The doctor told me not to drive and to try and stay awake for as long as I could. The perfect solution to that problem? Let my girlfriend Laura chauffeur me back. The most terrifying 250 miles of my life, sleeping never crossed my mind and even with bad wrists I managed to get my nails stuck into the hard plastic dash. The journey did my head wonders and I've already been testing the sofa idea with a watermelon in place of my head as a back-up for the next race. If you don't see me there then you'll know where I am!By Jeff Perrett