It's a phrase most motorcyclists hear sooner or later

The Crash

It was August 2025.

I was riding my 2018 Kawasaki H2 SX just outside Stornoway. It was an ordinary ride on a road I'd travelled many times before.

Coming around a bend, there was a junction on the left about 150 metres ahead. It was a 30mph zone. People were leaving the church near the junction and there was a white Fiat waiting to join the main carriageway.

The Fiat had stopped a couple of metres back from the white line.

I saw it.

It saw me.

Or at least I thought it had.

The car began to move forward slightly. Enough to catch my attention. I rolled off the throttle and slowed down, convinced the driver might pull out in front of me.

Then the Fiat stopped again.

This time right on the white line.

I remember looking directly at the driver. An elderly lady. She was looking in my direction.

At that point I made an assumption.

I assumed she had seen me.

I carried on.

As I approached the junction I moved slightly towards the centre of the road, creating a little more space just in case.

Then, at the exact moment I entered the area in front of the junction, she drove out.

There was no time.

No horn.

No shouting.

No grand life-flashing-before-my-eyes moment.

Just action.

I swerved into the opposite lane instinctively, trying to avoid her.

It wasn't enough.

The Fiat hit the left side of the bike square on.

I remember feeling the impact against my leg.

The next thing I knew I was no longer riding the motorcycle.

I was flying.

The force of the collision carried me over the Fiat's bonnet. The bike's movement threw me higher, and as I went over the top my shoulder struck the mirror, shearing it clean off.

Then came the road.

I hit hard and rolled towards the kerb.

The bike spun away from the collision and eventually came to rest just behind me.

I've crashed while racing before.

Track racing teaches you something about incidents. Not how to avoid them all, because you can't, but how to react when they happen.

Instinct and adrenaline took over.

Before I'd really processed what had happened, I was already back on my feet looking around for anything else that might be coming down the road.

The pain hadn't arrived yet.

That would come later.

The driver stopped and got out of the car. She was shaken. Her explanation was simple.

She hadn't seen me.

It's a phrase most motorcyclists hear sooner or later.

The police arrived and dealt with the collision professionally. I provided my details. The driver admitted fault.

After that, things moved surprisingly smoothly.

I contacted Motorcycle Law Scotland.

From the first conversation they took ownership of the entire process. The bike claim. The riding gear. Flights home. Shipping the motorcycle. The injury claim.

Everything.

The whole claim was completed in less than three months.

In a world where people often complain when things go wrong, it's worth acknowledging when someone gets things right.

They did.

The physical injuries turned out to be relatively minor. Bruising. Soreness. A few weeks of discomfort.

Nothing broken.

The bike wasn't so fortunate.

The assessment found a bent swingarm, a damaged frame and enough structural damage for it to be declared a total loss.

Written off.

Just like that.

And yet, when I look back at the accident now, I don't think about the bike.

I think about how differently it could have ended.

A slightly different angle.

A little more speed.

A different landing.

The outcome could have been very different.

Fast forward to 2026.

The claim eventually allowed me to replace the bike with a 2024 Kawasaki H2 SX SE.

Not the way I wanted to upgrade.

Not the route I would have chosen.

But life rarely asks what route you'd prefer.

The important thing was that I was still here to ride it.

I informed my insurer of the accident, as required, but because liability sat entirely with the other driver, I didn't have to claim through my own policy. No claim against my insurance. No premium increase at renewal.

The paperwork was closed.

The bruises healed.

The old bike was gone.

And eventually there came a day when I put my helmet back on and rode again.

Because that's what riders do.

Not because we forget.

Not because we're fearless.

But because sooner or later, you have to stop looking at where you fell and start looking at where you're going.

Keep riding. Stay strong.