‘Ramp ahead’ said the sign. Now often when a sign says ‘ramp’ that usually means something completely different to the thing we ordinary civilians mean by ramp – a bit of a step up or down in the road surface (or even an enormous chasm in the road) but this was a proper ramp. It was at the point where the road passed through a farm yard and the farmer was pumping some sort of agricultural substance from one part to the other and a nice steep metal ramp had been placed going over the hose. On the way out, going up the hill, this was merely a pain. But coming back, accelerating down the hill, it became something else entirely. It became a jump.
My outer thirty-*cough*-year-old was reaching for the brake as I realised this, but it seemed my inner twelve-year-old was in charge of the pedals and still accelerating. Sadly, some caution kicked in at the last minute and I didn’t get a lot of air – but if it’s still there next week, I’ll have to have another go. And properly this time.
Helmet? Why on earth would I want to wear a helmet?