A ONE ARMED BANDIT (continued)

THEN MORE GREAT NEWS. REDBACK RIDER IN BIKE SMASH Sunday Times *

Motor Cycle rider Colin Scott is in hospital.

He sustained a broken arm and legs after his distinctive "redback" motortrike was wrecked in an accident near his home. The 1000cc Honda Gold Wing hit a traffic light control post and Mr Scott is in hospital where his condition is described as 'stable and improving' - but one of his arms is missing and we can't find it. Ok so we put that last bit in but they must have been thinking it.

Serious physiotherapy. Ugly head on the bloke - Hey! have a close look here, I think we know where the missing arm is.

At this point I was shocked to see a car turning right from the opposite direction, starts on it's way as I enter the intersection. The thoughts that flew through my mind at that point, "What the fuck is he doing? Can't this guy see me? He's right in front of me, keep going!"

Alas he did not keep going, the driver obviously panicked at the sight of this one-armed biker bearing down on him, so he stopped. The fact that he stopped in my direct line of travel is where the next problem arose.

My mind was racing again, "What the fuck is he stopping for? Can't this idiot see me? I have nowhere to go, what the fuck do I do?" The instinctive reaction of defence takes over, avoid hitting this guy and getting T-boned, take evasive action. Now this is all good and well in theory.

I pulled left to avoid hitting this guy. The trike of course, for all of it's fantastic stability under normal circumstances isn't meant to do a u - turn at 60kph. I pull hard left, and the left rear wheel raises, removing all ability to maintain control of the vehicle. Now I see the lights coming toward me at a rapid pace, "Oh fuck, I'm gonna' hit, there's nowhere to go. How the fuck can this happen to me again, twice??" I watched the traffic light pole draw nearer, then there was nothing, for a little while anyway.

Suddenly I hear someone screaming, moaning, crying. it's me! The pain is unbelievable I was thinking, I'm conscious and can feel it this time.

"Is he alive? Is his neck broken? Can we move him?" Each question got a positive answer. "Then let's move him quick before it goes, support his neck someone!" I can hear all of this through my own noise in my head. The screaming of pain, the loudness of everything around me, the sound of my trike hissing.

I feel them lifting me, moving me, hear them talking to me, about me, but I could do nothing. Then another loud noise and intense heat, which turned out to be the trike going up in flames from the spilled fuel.

Well I'm glad they moved me then. I hear a familiar voice, yelling, "Put that fucking thing away before I ram it up your arse!" It's my old ice hockey team mate Glenn. Where the fuck did he come from I wonder? A reporter was trying to take pictures

Bandit and Glenn

"He's bleeding, his leg is fucked, forget his arm, it's been gone for years, fix his leg, give him something!" Blackness, all is quiet.

I'd been knocked out with drugs, taken to the local hospital to be patched up before being sent to Charles Gardener Hospital. Much of what followed there is a blur, but there's a lot of memories as well. The support of my family, both immediate and extended, was phenomenal.

My extended family, my brothers in Bikes Unlimited, of whom Ding Bob was the first to find out via a phone call from my wife at 3 am. Only immediate family allowed to see him, he's critical and in intensive care, not good at all.

Bandit on left - Ding Bob on Right

The next morning Bob pulled up outside the main entrance of the hospital at 8 am and parked at the door. "You can't park there Sir." "Like fuck I can't" replied Bob, "You try and stop me." Then he walked up to my ward, asking for Bandit. "Bandit Sir? You mean Mr Scott? It's family only allowed to see him Sir."

"That's fine, I'm his brother!" So in he went. I don't remember that first visit, or in fact many of the visits that followed after Bob got home and notified every other brother in the Club over the phone of what had happened and told them to go see me. I do know that the nurses thought I had more brothers than a Catholic priest though.

Without going into a book of tales, as this has gone on long enough already, after 18 months of recovery, relapses and rehabilitation, I finally cut free of the hospital again. Never to ride again, yeah, fucking right !!.

Three or so years later, I see Bob has bought a new chop from Queensland and is contemplating triking it. "Well Bob, that's the trike I want, a custom chop show trike."

Okey let's build another one. A KAWASAKI 900

Then the rebirthing started - the reincarnation of Redback began.

REDBAK2 was on it's way.

This time we built it from the ground up. No building a daily functional trike and drawing a spider on the boot, this one was built as a demonic Redback on 3 wheels.

At the end of the day from the flames of destruction and misery it was reborn - the mutation of a phenomena past returns - behold - Redbak2.

"Now gimme nutha' beer ya bastards !

To see more - including gory prang pics - go to The Bandit's Website. Click on pic.

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