I'd love to get other folk's thoughts on this. So, about a week ago I had an off on Putty. From the Singleton end, I was finishing a relatively easy left and setting up for the right. Last I saw my speedo I was going down from 70. Two bikers going much faster than I appeared coming towards me. One in my lane, and one in the middle. Far too bloody fast for a blind corner. So, I set my shiny new BMW 650 up for what I hoped would be a left hand 'controlled fall', in an opposite corner. Whatever the smeg that is. The only other options were continuing my line and hitting one of the two bikes, or braking as much as I could before hitting the cliffy rocks in front of me. I think I made the right choice. Effed if I Know how. The bike was more or less fine. Slightly bent handlebar, and a few fairing scratches. I spent bit on the ground, my bike still running. The bikes who'd sped past were well gone. I wasn't sure for a bit if I could still use most of my left hand limbs. I guess the shock of it all stiffened them up for a bit. A kind fellow in a 4X4 stopped. He had a solid Eastern European accent. Wish I remember his name. I told him to 'press the red button' to turn my bike off, and he then stood it up, and helped me up. I then managed to get the feeling in my leg back. Nothing hurt that much, I was just pretty amazed that everything seemed to work. Both my body and bike. He seemed to know a lot about bikes; he may have mentioned that he raced at some point. I forget. The fellow who helped me up bent a few things on my bike back into shape (nothing major) and everything worked. It was 'roadworthy'. I started, and he kindly followed for a bit to make sure I was OK. A few quick stops were taken while he bent a few minor things into shape and gave me some great riding critisicm were had, and then he took over and we waved each other off. The whole time he kept telling me never to stop for anyone (anyone would probably be theives or ******s), almost making me feel like I was stuck a few decades back in some remote Soviet lands. It gave me a smile. I continued on to the old halfway house, and stopped. Ran into the current owner, Dave, who showed me his delightful sculptures, gave me a meal, some coffee and a few beers. He insisted I slept the night, which was such a generous offer. Being an insomniac, I left quietly and wrote a note promising a gift of sorts when I next get back. I'll have to think of something good! So, my Rossi boots are nearly fine. Scuffed. Helmet was fine. My 'Pitt Crew' Waxed Cotten/oilskin jacket was perfect, despite taking a huge brunt of the fall. Normal jeans, as it was the day I'd finally decided to wash my Draggins. I've had a bit of a limp for a week, and many bruises on my left hand side. I'm extremely impressed with how durable the BMW was, and how useful the Barkbusters were! Probably the reason I could ride it home. Bit pissed off about being run off the road by other motorcyclists, but I think I made the correct choice. I don't think I'd ever really want to post anything like this, but am compelled to, merely by how friendly everyone was. On my way back (after being given some mild painkillers and probably having a slight point of beer still in my system) some police were happy enough to give me directions to a 24/7 servo in Singleton at about 3am so I could get some smokes. They seemed more interested in talking about motorcycles though!