As my feet were swept of the footpegs, and I clung to the handlebars for dear life, I had a distinct feeling of being dragged behind a boat with waterski's on.

It all had to do with the fact, that we had been riding since dawn and keeping focussed as each 10 dusty yards ahead of you, vanishes into the next, for mile upon mile upon mile was virtually impossible.

So - we used that TERRIFIC technique of helping you stay alert when riding: UP THE ANTE to the point where the adrenaline kicks in, and you're wide awake, simply trying to stay alive.

John was leading, and gradually (possibly uknowingly) started increasing the speed from our usual 60km/h on the loose stuff, to 70km/h and finally, we were hacking along at between 80 and 90km/h.

I LOVE THIS SHIT!! Was what I was thinking, grinning inside my helmet, as every muscle in my body was poised , nerves on edge, dealing with the rapidly shifting surface under the wheels, ready for anything.

Problem is: very soon, very fast becomes boring too. And before long, I was happily humming to myself, mind drifting, as even 90km/h seemed to be mundane.

Which is why, as I crested a rise in the road, I was suddenly (out of the blue!) confronted with a virtually stationery John - at a huge dip in the road, filled with water.

So - just to recap: sandy, gravelly road surface, mindless female rider, 80km/h, a ditch full of water with no visible bottom, and about HALF A SECOND to react.

Half a second, turns into a CENTURY, as we all know, moments before you die, so I had time to choose between the following options:

I could narrowly avoid crashing into John, by swerving to the right and then:

1) Slam on the brakes, which will obviously make me skid in, but at least I will be going slower and possibly the water will not hurt so much

OR

2) Slow down as much as I can, pray and hit the water at whatever speed I'm going, hoping there's nothing in the bottom and just hope I motor out the other end.

Since I'm an INCURABLE optimist, I decided to take my chance on the IMPOSSIBLE...

What little I could slow down already caused the bike to fishtail on the gravel, so I eased off the brake, ramped up the prayer, and hit the water at around 50km/h.

As my feet were swept of the footpegs, and I clung to the handlebars for dear life, I had a distinct feeling of being dragged behind a boat with waterski's on.

I certainly pushed an arc of water so high in front of me, that I was SOAKED right up to my waist.

I had time to pray that no weird water bugs could swim into my knickers, before the bike flew out the other end and up the slippery bank, onto sand tracks, which required my IMMEDIATE attention.

I finally slowed down to halt and waited for John to catch up, trying not to look like, in fact, I had shat my pants and was happy to just be alive.

He's face was a mixture of shocked disbelief and gleeful admiration:

"That was AWESOME! You must have hit that at 60km/h - did you see the huge bow wave you made?"

Bloody American nutter.