The place was Lydenberg South Africa, it's a horrible little town with only one real attraction, the Pass, twenty something odd kilometers of winding tar set on a sheer drop that quite literally sometimes goes down into the clouds. I was out for a fun run with a few mates, their bikes were smaller and after a while I got bored of playing with them and flew off on my own. By that stage I'd had my 929 for about six months and was getting really comfortable with her, too comfotble. I dropped down into a fairly tight right hander going well over 160, as I swept onto the white line something caught the tar, causing a savage scraping sound that made me lift her up a bit to get away from. Suddenly I was on the yellow heading for a barrier and a drop off of the edge of the earth, I tried to tuck back in but my rear tyre slid off of the tar and I found myself skidding around the last of the corner like a cinder-track rider, bike flying virtually sideways, nose pointed forewards with the rail just behind my back tyre and me hammering the throttle in an attempt to climb back onto the tar. Just as I thought that I had her back I noticed the storm water ledge. In a last attempt to regain control I whipped the ass onto the tar but this forced my front tyre into the line of the concrete... I remember seeing it coming and vaguely the impact but there's no memory of the flight or the fall. I was lucky enough to have completed the turn by that time and was thrown straight onto the tar, must have landed well over sixty meters from where the crunch happened, knees and hands bleeding, helmet barely intact and leathers well scuffed but still able to get up and limp back to my baby, who was shedding all of her oil in a sorry heap in the center of the road ... That was November, it's now June and I'm almost finished putting her back together. I never want to be without my wings for that long again in my life, it's been agonising.