Discussion
Who would like to share their stories of pushing that little bit too hard in their pride and joy resulting in a embarrassing faux pas and a call to the insurance company.
Starting off back when 17 years of age I decided after watching many rally video's about the Swedish Snow rally, I would be able to take my Vauxhall Nova 1.2 Signature up into the local forest in heavy snow to have some fun and test my amazing car control. "Well at least in my head that is"
So off I went pretending to take the dog for a walk zipping about the forest having the best fun ever. Ok I was not being stupid and slowing down when getting near corners in case someone happened to be coming the other way but I was in control.
Unfortunately after going up and down the same track around 10-15 times I had started to leave the snow in a more ice like condition and during my last effort before actually taking the poor dog for its walk I hit a very shiny patch of ice and veered down a bank just missing a huge rock.
This was me totally stuck with no chance of escape but the dog did look delighted we had stopped.
When I exited the car my non locking fuel cap was allowing the nearly full tank of fuel to just pour out the cap but thankfully the car only had a very small dent.
As no mobile phones back then I then did take the dog for it's walk to the nearest house around 4 miles away and called for assistance from the local garage.
I am positive the man with the recovery vehicle knew that my excuse that I was trying to find the dog and a dear jumped out was the biggest load of bull he had every heard but kindly recovered the stricken Nova and stupid driver.
Anyway lesson learned and very lucky no insurance companies had to be called.
Anyone else care to share their moments of madness or just a simple mistake?
Starting off back when 17 years of age I decided after watching many rally video's about the Swedish Snow rally, I would be able to take my Vauxhall Nova 1.2 Signature up into the local forest in heavy snow to have some fun and test my amazing car control. "Well at least in my head that is"
So off I went pretending to take the dog for a walk zipping about the forest having the best fun ever. Ok I was not being stupid and slowing down when getting near corners in case someone happened to be coming the other way but I was in control.
Unfortunately after going up and down the same track around 10-15 times I had started to leave the snow in a more ice like condition and during my last effort before actually taking the poor dog for its walk I hit a very shiny patch of ice and veered down a bank just missing a huge rock.
This was me totally stuck with no chance of escape but the dog did look delighted we had stopped.
When I exited the car my non locking fuel cap was allowing the nearly full tank of fuel to just pour out the cap but thankfully the car only had a very small dent.
As no mobile phones back then I then did take the dog for it's walk to the nearest house around 4 miles away and called for assistance from the local garage.
I am positive the man with the recovery vehicle knew that my excuse that I was trying to find the dog and a dear jumped out was the biggest load of bull he had every heard but kindly recovered the stricken Nova and stupid driver.
Anyway lesson learned and very lucky no insurance companies had to be called.
Anyone else care to share their moments of madness or just a simple mistake?
Edited by anonymous-user on Friday 29th July 16:19
Prizam said:
No insurance claimed – paid for the damage out of my own pocket. Worked out cheaper
No charges – Coppers didn’t find me at fault for anything
News - it was in the papers
Car – purchased a faster one… but with more airbags.
The holdup – A broken down tractor caused the queuing traffic.
No charges – Coppers didn’t find me at fault for anything
News - it was in the papers
Car – purchased a faster one… but with more airbags.
The holdup – A broken down tractor caused the queuing traffic.
But the main question is did you get a sympathy shag out of it?
Driving my recent girlfriend home after a pub meal, where she indicated that the 3rd date rule was to be implemented, I took the short cut via through the woods, the road dipped down to a hairpin bend and rose steeply out of a wooded valley.
The roads were damp and when I got to the bottom, I gave it my best impression of a Colin McRae, however the amount of wet leaf litter had other ideas and I span, she was screaming and all I could think of as time slowed down was my recently departed Grandfather whose only advice for driving was " Don't pick a fight with a tree or a dry stone wall, you will lose lad!" trees and walls flashed by my eyes until we came to a stop.
For a few moments it was like am I alive?, what happened?....... then how the hell did we manage to not hit anything? and gingerly carried on taking her home, when we got there, she mumbled an apology and ran off into the house leaving me with a soggy passenger seat.
The roads were damp and when I got to the bottom, I gave it my best impression of a Colin McRae, however the amount of wet leaf litter had other ideas and I span, she was screaming and all I could think of as time slowed down was my recently departed Grandfather whose only advice for driving was " Don't pick a fight with a tree or a dry stone wall, you will lose lad!" trees and walls flashed by my eyes until we came to a stop.
For a few moments it was like am I alive?, what happened?....... then how the hell did we manage to not hit anything? and gingerly carried on taking her home, when we got there, she mumbled an apology and ran off into the house leaving me with a soggy passenger seat.
DRFC1879 said:
Two for me:
Firstly a U-rated one: In my first month as a gainfully employed 21-year old commercial exec for a food company we used to supply all the Haven holiday camps with chilled goods. It was part of my job to drive round the ones in the North of England and up into Scotland to make sure all was well, audit their stocks etc.
I had a 1.6 petrol Golf company car which wasn't bad fun on the twisty bits. I was heading up Northumberland way and thought I'd nip over the causeway to Lindisfarne. Not because I was entertaining the idea of becoming a monk and seeing out my days getting lightly inebriated on the fine honey-based beverage for which the island is known but because it looked like a decent country road and I'd never driven over a causeway before.
The lane I drove down was brilliant. Twists & turns, dips and crests all the way so before going to the causeway I drove back down it for another sighter then went flat out to the causeway. I was giving it plenty of stick and caught a bit of air once or twice, hooning like only a young man in possession of a chunk of company-leased metal can with a grin wider than the Tweed Estuary on my fizog.
Trouble is, those 1.6 family hatches aren't really equipped to deal with such oikish punishment. Least of all around the brakes. I was spanking it towards a fairly sharp right hander with high banks and hedges either side and went for the middle pedal to find that my brakes had decided they'd had enough of my bullying and gone for a smoke. s
t. I dropped a gear and chucked the car into the corner at Christknowswhatspeed and somehow managed to make it round practically unscathed save for a brush with the roadside vegetation. I've still not been back to that road in a decent motor as I promoised myself I would.
The second one was a bit more hairy.
I was now 23, working for the same company but I'd had a promotion and had specced up (no surprise here!) a 53 plate 320d ES in Mystic Blue. I fking loved that car.
It was getting on for a year old and I routinely drove it with all driver aids turned off which made the whole experience much more fun. One Saturday night, I had been entertaining a young lass from t'other side of town. I thought I'd cook her a nice meal while my flatmate was out but as she was mere 18 years old I had to drive her home to her parents' house after we'd finished our evening's shenanigans.
All went swimmingly. I dropped her off and said hello to her parents who were convinced that I was a local purveyor of recreational pharmaceuticals because I was in my early 20s and drove a new Beemer. A 320 diesel FFS.
Anyhoo, back I went to my flat via a circuitous route as I had refrained form having even one glass of wine with the meal so I fancied a bit of a blast. Got home and had barely put my key in the door when my flatmate, completely spangled in some town centre nitespot had evidently had a barren night on the pull and asked if I'd pick him up.
"No problem" said I and with a spring in my step, ventured back out in the Bee-em. Any excuse to take a trip into town on a Satdi night.So I picked up flatmate and his well-oiled drinking companion who lived a junction up the A1. Having dropped off said companion, I was tootling along at a speed that I can't recall and I wouldn't want my failing memory to get me into trouble by suggesting that it could have been anything as silly as 120mph. The moon was full. So full, one might say that even on an unlit stretch of the A1, headlights were strictly discretional. So off they went for a bit much to the merriment of my inebriated compadre.
That's not where the "incident" occurred though. Had it done so, I very much doubt that I'd be jabbering away on the internet with the veracity afforded to me by the presence of life and a full complement of working limbs.
As I have already mentioned, driver aids such as traction control and dynamic stability control were an unwelcome interference, hindering my propensity for rear-end choreography of which Miley Cyrus would be envious. So when we pulled off the A1, egged on by my enthusiastic piston-headed chum I got the tail wagging happily round every corner. Until approaching a sharp left adjacent to a set of allotments I overcooked it a tad. I steered into the skid and tried to power out but my back wheel clipped a kerb then bit the road forcing me to over-correct. We were now going sideways towards a concrete fence post and a row of runner beans and there wasn't much I could do about it bar shouting "brace yourself". Which my mate did quite stoically given his blood alcohol level as the post snapped in two on impact and a chain link fence combed itself over the top of the car, leaving its indelible signature on every panel.
My erstwhile passenger and I exchanged glances and uttered the words "you alright?" to one another followed by "bail out". We emerged unscathed to survey the damage. A seriously dented door, the aforementioned abstract cubist paint job courtesy of the fence, a set of ruined alloys and a prematurely uprooted row of Maris Pipers made for quite a sight in the halcyon ante-smartphone days which meant the dystopia unfortunately escaped its place in the archives marked "Epic Hoonery".
We got back in the remains of my pride and joy to await the attendance of rozzers and recovery company which gave a passing couple quite the fright as happening upon the carnage to find my passenger and I in situ they presumed us wounded at best. Gave the poor girl quite a fright when I opened my door to say we were ok.
Within twenty minutes or so the boys in blue turned up to find two early 20s lads in the wrecked carcass of a newish BMW which thanks to my flatmate's night on the pop absolutely reeked of booze. I outlined what had happened when a pesky fox ran out from the allotment causing me to swerve and clip the kerb. I then said, no doubt you want to breathalyse me at which point, plod one turned to plod two and said "I think he's alright. wanna risk it?" Plod two swiftly concurred that such a dereliction of duty was more than agreeable and off they tootled in their Pug 306.
I got the car loaded onto a recovery truck and deposited into my allocated parking space outside the flat. I awoke bright and early to howls of laughter from the neighbours. Next time I picked up the young lass I'd been schmoozing (let's call her Nicki, for that was her name) it was in a Mk1 Focus hire car. She went off me shortly after...
Love it Firstly a U-rated one: In my first month as a gainfully employed 21-year old commercial exec for a food company we used to supply all the Haven holiday camps with chilled goods. It was part of my job to drive round the ones in the North of England and up into Scotland to make sure all was well, audit their stocks etc.
I had a 1.6 petrol Golf company car which wasn't bad fun on the twisty bits. I was heading up Northumberland way and thought I'd nip over the causeway to Lindisfarne. Not because I was entertaining the idea of becoming a monk and seeing out my days getting lightly inebriated on the fine honey-based beverage for which the island is known but because it looked like a decent country road and I'd never driven over a causeway before.
The lane I drove down was brilliant. Twists & turns, dips and crests all the way so before going to the causeway I drove back down it for another sighter then went flat out to the causeway. I was giving it plenty of stick and caught a bit of air once or twice, hooning like only a young man in possession of a chunk of company-leased metal can with a grin wider than the Tweed Estuary on my fizog.
Trouble is, those 1.6 family hatches aren't really equipped to deal with such oikish punishment. Least of all around the brakes. I was spanking it towards a fairly sharp right hander with high banks and hedges either side and went for the middle pedal to find that my brakes had decided they'd had enough of my bullying and gone for a smoke. s
t. I dropped a gear and chucked the car into the corner at Christknowswhatspeed and somehow managed to make it round practically unscathed save for a brush with the roadside vegetation. I've still not been back to that road in a decent motor as I promoised myself I would.The second one was a bit more hairy.
I was now 23, working for the same company but I'd had a promotion and had specced up (no surprise here!) a 53 plate 320d ES in Mystic Blue. I f
king loved that car.It was getting on for a year old and I routinely drove it with all driver aids turned off which made the whole experience much more fun. One Saturday night, I had been entertaining a young lass from t'other side of town. I thought I'd cook her a nice meal while my flatmate was out but as she was mere 18 years old I had to drive her home to her parents' house after we'd finished our evening's shenanigans.
All went swimmingly. I dropped her off and said hello to her parents who were convinced that I was a local purveyor of recreational pharmaceuticals because I was in my early 20s and drove a new Beemer. A 320 diesel FFS.
Anyhoo, back I went to my flat via a circuitous route as I had refrained form having even one glass of wine with the meal so I fancied a bit of a blast. Got home and had barely put my key in the door when my flatmate, completely spangled in some town centre nitespot had evidently had a barren night on the pull and asked if I'd pick him up.
"No problem" said I and with a spring in my step, ventured back out in the Bee-em. Any excuse to take a trip into town on a Satdi night.So I picked up flatmate and his well-oiled drinking companion who lived a junction up the A1. Having dropped off said companion, I was tootling along at a speed that I can't recall and I wouldn't want my failing memory to get me into trouble by suggesting that it could have been anything as silly as 120mph. The moon was full. So full, one might say that even on an unlit stretch of the A1, headlights were strictly discretional. So off they went for a bit much to the merriment of my inebriated compadre.
That's not where the "incident" occurred though. Had it done so, I very much doubt that I'd be jabbering away on the internet with the veracity afforded to me by the presence of life and a full complement of working limbs.
As I have already mentioned, driver aids such as traction control and dynamic stability control were an unwelcome interference, hindering my propensity for rear-end choreography of which Miley Cyrus would be envious. So when we pulled off the A1, egged on by my enthusiastic piston-headed chum I got the tail wagging happily round every corner. Until approaching a sharp left adjacent to a set of allotments I overcooked it a tad. I steered into the skid and tried to power out but my back wheel clipped a kerb then bit the road forcing me to over-correct. We were now going sideways towards a concrete fence post and a row of runner beans and there wasn't much I could do about it bar shouting "brace yourself". Which my mate did quite stoically given his blood alcohol level as the post snapped in two on impact and a chain link fence combed itself over the top of the car, leaving its indelible signature on every panel.
My erstwhile passenger and I exchanged glances and uttered the words "you alright?" to one another followed by "bail out". We emerged unscathed to survey the damage. A seriously dented door, the aforementioned abstract cubist paint job courtesy of the fence, a set of ruined alloys and a prematurely uprooted row of Maris Pipers made for quite a sight in the halcyon ante-smartphone days which meant the dystopia unfortunately escaped its place in the archives marked "Epic Hoonery".
We got back in the remains of my pride and joy to await the attendance of rozzers and recovery company which gave a passing couple quite the fright as happening upon the carnage to find my passenger and I in situ they presumed us wounded at best. Gave the poor girl quite a fright when I opened my door to say we were ok.
Within twenty minutes or so the boys in blue turned up to find two early 20s lads in the wrecked carcass of a newish BMW which thanks to my flatmate's night on the pop absolutely reeked of booze. I outlined what had happened when a pesky fox ran out from the allotment causing me to swerve and clip the kerb. I then said, no doubt you want to breathalyse me at which point, plod one turned to plod two and said "I think he's alright. wanna risk it?" Plod two swiftly concurred that such a dereliction of duty was more than agreeable and off they tootled in their Pug 306.
I got the car loaded onto a recovery truck and deposited into my allocated parking space outside the flat. I awoke bright and early to howls of laughter from the neighbours. Next time I picked up the young lass I'd been schmoozing (let's call her Nicki, for that was her name) it was in a Mk1 Focus hire car. She went off me shortly after...
Alex_225 said:
Not so much a 'watch this' moment but certainly the closest I've ever come to a crash.
Driving in very heavy rain but only in a 30 so all is well. I'm driving a 1993 Clio RT which was my daily runabout at the time, so no ABS and I suspect naff tyres.
So a good way in front of me was a relatively new Punto which I could see slowly down, next thing you know it's done an emergency stop and caught me off guard (my fault I know). I can only assume it thought a car in a junction to the right may be about to pull out as there really was no need and I was by no means tailgating.
Next thing I know the tyres are locked up completely, no response from the steering wheel obviously but I'm approaching the back of this Fiat knowing I'm not going to stop in time. Torrential rain has that effect it would seem. I'm left with two choices, go round it to the right and risk that car pulling out or go left effectively hitting a telegraph pole but I'd rather demolish a £600 car on it's own than hit another car.
So I take option two, steer to the left, come off the brakes and the car grips and steers. Somehow I managed to drive perfectly up a dipped kerb, along the pavement, avoiding the telegraph pole and steer back down another dipped kerb. From the outside it essentially looked like I'd deliberately driven up the pavement to go round the car in front where in reality it was a real bum clenching moment that happened incredibly quickly.
I stopped a short way down the road to check my car over (and to take a deep breath) at which point my girlfriend at the time, who'd been looking down at her phone just said, 'What happened there' as she didn't even realise what had gone on.
Not only had I managed to not damage the alloys on the car, the tracking was fine and no one was hurt (including my minimal no claims at the time).
Certainly a lesson for me in that even with what you consider safe distances, if it's tipping it down with rain they may not be far enough.
At least it was only your GF looking down at her phone. The amount of near misses when you can see the person behind just look up in time.Driving in very heavy rain but only in a 30 so all is well. I'm driving a 1993 Clio RT which was my daily runabout at the time, so no ABS and I suspect naff tyres.
So a good way in front of me was a relatively new Punto which I could see slowly down, next thing you know it's done an emergency stop and caught me off guard (my fault I know). I can only assume it thought a car in a junction to the right may be about to pull out as there really was no need and I was by no means tailgating.
Next thing I know the tyres are locked up completely, no response from the steering wheel obviously but I'm approaching the back of this Fiat knowing I'm not going to stop in time. Torrential rain has that effect it would seem. I'm left with two choices, go round it to the right and risk that car pulling out or go left effectively hitting a telegraph pole but I'd rather demolish a £600 car on it's own than hit another car.
So I take option two, steer to the left, come off the brakes and the car grips and steers. Somehow I managed to drive perfectly up a dipped kerb, along the pavement, avoiding the telegraph pole and steer back down another dipped kerb. From the outside it essentially looked like I'd deliberately driven up the pavement to go round the car in front where in reality it was a real bum clenching moment that happened incredibly quickly.
I stopped a short way down the road to check my car over (and to take a deep breath) at which point my girlfriend at the time, who'd been looking down at her phone just said, 'What happened there' as she didn't even realise what had gone on.
Not only had I managed to not damage the alloys on the car, the tracking was fine and no one was hurt (including my minimal no claims at the time).
Certainly a lesson for me in that even with what you consider safe distances, if it's tipping it down with rain they may not be far enough.
Crazy stuff.
At least yours ended well
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