Well, there's only one that springs to my mind, and as Ken's usually too busy to lurk these days I'll recount it in its full glory.

A few years ago as far as we knew me and Ken were the only bikers of our age in the area. We'd go to rivington every sunday without fail. He had a ZZR250 and I had my RS125. The bikes were fairly complimentary in that neither had a significant advantage over the other: the RS's supension (and my confidence in it) helped in corners, but the 250 power made up for it for Ken.

Our weekly run to Rivington would involve the black dog stretch - a road that wends its way from Belmont to Rivvy, bordered by grass and the odd fence to keep the sheep in. It's just about perfect for tiny bikes due to the sharp bends, rises and dips and combinations of the above. There's virtually nowhere for a big bike to lay any power down, aside for one straight in the middle where any beans with see you wheelieing off the two bumps. The other half leads down and twists past a farm. From the end of there it's a short stretch to the Barn for refreshment and general bike-gathering stuff.

Now we both loved this road. I've been on rideouts where all the other bikes were 900cc+ and after a few hours of being a few minutes behind all the way we'd get there and I'd say "see you there then guys" and leave them. Due to the excellent handling of the RS it was easier to flick it around than the ZZR and I'd usually stop and wait for Ken for a few seconds before we either went home or to the Barn.

One day we were heading home and I'd hared off on a bit of a mission. Overtaking cars was also pot-luck as to whether you'd get a lucky break and get past or get stuck behind them frustrated. I got the former and Ken got the latter. After being denied a go at the second (and better IMO) "half" he decided to go for it.

He moves out, winds the beans on and starts to overtake. In the left lane there's a car, in the right lane there's Ken, both heading for a bend. Only now there's also a car in the right lane heading for him, and he's freshly run out of lanes. In deciding discretion is the better part of valour he elected to make a third lane and see where the grassy bit went.

I meanwhile have parked up at the pub, waiting for him while nodding at bikers going this way and that. I start to spot the cars I've overtaken - "yup, that was the lasst one, yeah - remember that red one." This soon changes to "I don't remember that one, oh, but I went past that one."

It turns out the grassy bit went down into a watery-bottomed ditch. The mud quickly arrested the 60mph bike and rider. Ken was fine apart from having a sore thumb and a bike too heavy for him to lift out of a ditch stuck in a ditch.

By this time I get back on the bike and head back to find him. I rode past him as I couldn't see him or his bike - a car had parked up to help the 10 or so bikers that pulled his bike from the ditch. Said car driver was waiting with him until I turned up. A quick 'bout-face and I nearly rode past again due to over-eagerness but pulled a stoppie instead. Parked up and was surprised to find the cager was a mate off my uni course who I sit in lectures with.

A once over the bike reveals an indicator lens knocked skew-wiff, cracked mirror and broken throttle grip thingy. A bodge job later and the engine fires to immediately rev its nuts off. So we can't bodge it like that then. A few bodges later we get halfway home then call the AA - enough's enough.

It's the only accident I've ever walked away from and laughed though.