Air ambulance saves the day (Photo: East Midlands Ambulance Service)

What a weekend. What a ride.

After several weeks without riding for various reasons, we’d decided to get ourselves back into it gently by trying a new route. Having woken up awfully early for a Sunday, we opened the curtains to find it overcast. By the time we’d packed the bikes and gear, the rain had commenced and we’d had several phone calls from people either dropping out or checking to see we were still going despite the weather. We eventually made it to the allotted car park meeting place at Topley Pike Quarry just five minutes behind schedule, only to find that we were, naturally, first there…

Fast forward thirty minutes: half the crew had arrived, we knew for certain of some who’d decided not to bother, it was intermittently raining and battering down when it wasn’t raining. We were debating whether to just do half the ride then use a cut-out to get back to the cars or just abandon it and go see some caves instead. We decided to wait a short while longer and it paid off – as the last rider arrived in the car park, the rain slackened and stopped. Reluctantly we all suited up, got the bikes ready and set off. For the first mile or so all was well and good, even though the climb was steep and muddy. At least we had an excuse to get off and push, what with lack of fitness and the recent rain making the surface slippy.

Through the village at the top of the hill, after checking the map we eventually found the track we were supposed to take. As we followed the track, we realised that the ground ahead of us didn’t seem to match the route description. We stopped, checked the map and retraced our steps to the last known point on the route map. Luckily it was only a couple of hundred yards, so we set off down the other branch and rode into a field. As we got further into the field the track petered out to nothing, but we could see the woods we were supposed to ride through and they would provide cover from the increasing rain, so we headed towards them.

Guess what? Yes, wrong again. No exit from the field, so we retraced our steps back to said “last known point” and once again set off on the track we’d previously disregarded. At this point we noticed a curious phenomenon. It had stopped raining. I laughingly said that it seemed that that weather was telling us when we were on the wrong path. Half a mile later this was proved correct as we finally stopped in the now pouring rain and checked the route map against an OS map. We’d not spotted that there was a third track leading away from the “last known point”, so we turned round and headed back, and magically, the rain stopped. Spooky, huh?

For some time the ride continued without incident, until a shower prompted us to check the map. As it turned out we were wrong, we’d missed the gate by two hundred yards. Back on the correct route, we slogged through a field six inches deep in sticky, gloopy mud for about half a mile, only to realise once we’d exited it (along with about three kilos of mud per tyre) that it had simply taken us down the back of the hill, and we’d now have to climb back up to join further along the track where we’d last realised that we were no longer on the right route. Grrrr…

Still, the ride finally got interesting at this point. A jolly nice downhill on an old track, with the added bonus of wet limestone to keep us alert. As usual testosterone got the better of us and we enjoyed a dual down the track, eventually arriving breathless and grinning at the bottom. Once the rest of the group had caught up we crossed the A6 and set off. A quick check of the map stopped us taking the wrong path (again!), and we soon spotted the green lane which was our next destination. Testosterone was still raging at this point and I shifted up a few gears, pedalled hard and left the others in my dust – hah! The descent was really fun, an old track with three ruts: two wheel ruts from the 4×4 brigade, and a centre rut which was a combination of MTB/MX track and stream. Each rut was about six inches wide and about 2 inches deep so I judged it safest to stay in the center rut, pedalling when I thought it safe, all the while praying I didn’t clip the edge of the rut and stack big time. I got to the bottom grinning wildly and wondering why the hell I’d been finding excuses to do something else for the past few weekends.

Five minutes later I wasn’t grinning quite so much. Despite having been just in front of the group when we set off, they still hadn’t arrived. I knew something had happened and was hoping it was just a mechanical or a puncture. Although I’m not too bad downhill, I’m not that much better than the other guys on the ride and would have expected to see them by that point. I was just considering riding back up when I heard the roar of a motocross bike. “Of course”, I thought, “They’ve been caught by MXers, stopped to let them pass, perhaps had a bit of a chat. They’ll be down in a minute.”

When the MX riders stopped, I knew that wasn’t the case. “One of your chaps is down. He’s come off and looks a bit winded,” they said.

With a sense of foreboding I climbed back on my bike and headed uphill – luckily only a few hundred yards. The rest of the group were clustered around a body on the floor, and it didn’t look good. I saw the person on the floor was wearing a yellow jacket and my heart sank as I mentally singled out Mrs NBT as the only person wearing such a garment. I must admit I felt quite relieved to see that the yellow jacket on the body did not mean it was Mrs NBT: She’d wrapped it around him to keep him warm. Rather than my wife, the person on the floor was Mark. No-one had seen the crash but from the way his bike was wedged in a tree it was obvious what had happened – he’d lost control and crashed into the tree where his bike still stood.

The others seemed concerned as Mark by this time was having difficulty breathing. Having established that we didn’t have any real first-aiders, I took out the mobile phone and dialled 999.

I explained the situation to the medical services team, explaining that we were some way off the main road and we didn’t think a regular ambulance would be able to reach us due to the trees overhanging the already narrow track – a Mountain Rescue Land Rover would have been more suitable. I also gave them a grid reference for our location so they could see for themselves where we were. As Mark was conscious, albeit in considerable pain, they assured us they would send someone out as soon as possible and would call back if they needed more information.

Mark by this time was shivering with the cold. Although it wasn’t raining the fact that we’d stopped meant he wasn’t generating heat. Very fortunately for him, he had packed a silver foil emergency blanket and we wrapped him in that while we waited. None of the rest of us had even basic first-aid stuff, other than few plasters.

True to their word, the medical service called back within ten minutes. “We’ve sent out the air ambulance. It should be with you in a couple of minutes, so don’t be alarmed if you a see a helicopter circling.” We were amazed at this and volunteered to find a suitable landing spot and guide them in.

Within two minutes we heard the chopper approaching and two of our guys danced wildly in the field as the helicopter circled above us. After a heart stopping moment as the helicopter seemed to move away from us, it once again came round and landed in the field near us. Shortly after this another ambulance man came running down the lane: despite our advice he’d come in a regular ambulance and got stuck near the top of the lane!

At this point medical officials took over and quickly established the history and dealt with Mark. More than one of us was disappointed to find that we wouldn’t be allowed to ride in the helicopter with Mark, but at least we knew that Mark had been made comfortable and shipped off to hospital. Now we had to get back to the cars, and we had an extra bike. If any of you drove along the A6 the other day at about 2pm between Priestcliffe and Topley Pike and saw a group of riders, one of whom was pushing a bike while riding his own: well, now you know why!

We got back to the cars safely and I was nominated to drive over to visit Mark in Chesterfield Hospital. Glossing over the nightmare I had driving round Chesterfield trying to find the hospital, I finally found it, and by that time Mark had been treated (and was high on a massive dose of morphine). X-rays confirmed that he’d broken two ribs, but luckily hadn’t done any damage to other internals. He was sent home with painkillers and instructions on how to deal with it (remember to breathe, don’t do anything stupid: Honest, that’s what it boils down to!).

Overall it was an exciting and educational experience, and one that’s prompted me to finally follow-up on my oft-stated declaration that I’m going to buy a first-aid kit. Most of it may not have been of use in yesterday’s situation, but had his lungs been punctured then we would have been woefully under-equipped and under educated.

One other point to note, God forbid any of you should need this: The helicopter crew admitted that they had indeed been flying away from us. They turned back only because they saw the ambulance stuck further up the lane. The advice they gave was to wave something fluorescent, or failing that something white. That’s another thing I shall be seeking out to put in my pack for future rides.

And on that note, I shall leave you with the cheery thought that Mark is currently being fussed over by his better half while we’re all in work!