“As long as I’m breathing, alive, and healthy enough, I’ll ride a motorcycle”

A journey beginning in Ankara and a Voodoo spell

This diary entry from Murat, the second in this blog, is not only a testimony of great passion, attentive compassion from friends, and unstoppable courage. It is also a historical cameo, taking motorcyclists back to a time when bikes were not so popular and present in Turkey. It recalls a period when Hamit Abassoglu, president of OMM, fought side by side with Suleyman Memnun and a few others to detach motorcycling from the Motorsport Federation (cars) and create TMF, the Turkish Motorcycle Federation. This is the same federation that, a few years later, banned the OMM training program (Roadcraft System) for reasons better left unexplored.

The difficulty of the battle for the creation of TMF is evident from Murat’s notes, although it is not the main focus. The lesson here is a suggestion for all of us on what to do after an accident that affects not only the bones but also the spirit and the will to ride. (Paolo note)

Some memories remain as vivid as the day they happened, no matter how much time passes. This it’s not just a story of an accident, but the beginning of a promise I made to myself—that I would never give up on my passion.

The year was 2003. Süleyman and OMM were working hard to establish the Turkish Motorcycle Federation. At that time, we were competing under TOMSFED.

Before an Enduro race scheduled to take place in Ankara, we went to the track for practice, but they wouldn’t let us use it. That argument ended with Süleyman’s disqualification, which really dampened our spirits. The fight for power within the federation was really without mercy.

With our morale low, we went to the motocross track in Haymana. My motorcycle had just been serviced, so the brake settings were different from what I was used to.

During practice, Ömer Kerman got in front of me, and when I braked, the bike reacted unexpectedly, causing me to slide and fall onto my right shoulder.

The pain was intense, but Hakan Kitapçı tried to ease it with muscle relaxants and other medications.

When we got to the hotel Hamit Abbasoğlu suddenly appeared with a bag: when he heard I’d fallen, he’d taken the first flight from Istanbul to Ankara to make good on his ongoing joke: “I’ll cast a voodoo spell on you.” -he said dramatically.He pulled a motorcycle model out of his bag, followed by a rider figurine with a green pushpin stuck in its right shoulder.

He turned to me and said, “See, I told you I’d cast a voodoo spell on you. This green pin caused your injury. If you don’t do as I say, I’ll use a red one or a black one next. You can imagine what will happen then.”

A burst of laughter erupted. He had found a model of my exact bike, created the scene, and even remembered that small detail. Hamit’s funny and thoughtful gesture truly helped ease my pain.

A Unconscious Race and a Promise of Endless Passion.

At the start of the race the TOMSFED officials, as punishment, placed all of Süleyman’s group at the back. I was starting in 16th position. To win, I’d have to pass the 15 people in front of me. I turned to Süleyman and promised, “Today, I’ll race for you, and I’ll bring you a trophy.”

In the final kilometres of the race, during the second stage, I was riding very well, flowing, enjoying the “zone” and I said to myself, “Enjoy it, slow down, and just focus on finishing the race.”

A moment later, I heard a “clang” and saw flashes of light. When I opened my eyes, the bike was on the ground, and I was standing. My head was spinning and my right wrist hurt terribly, but all I could think about was getting back on the bike to continue the race, working hard on a stubborn Kickstart. After that, my memories became jumbled.

At one point, I found myself sitting with my back against the front wheel of my bike. When Nedim Finanser asked if I was okay, I remember telling “Don’t stop, keep going.”

The next thing I remember, I was on my bike, but the front brake wasn’t working, and I was riding on an asphalt road.

I asked some people I saw, “I think I’m lost, which way is the track?” but I couldn’t hear their replies. I think the panic of the front brake failing, after the hydraulic line burst in the fall, might have jolted me awake.

People stopped me and said, “Get off the bike, the race is over. Where are you going?”

I kept asking where the track was, but they showed me the signed checkpoint card on the rear fender of my bike, and I finally accepted that I had finished the race. It turns out I’d lost consciousness during the fall and somehow managed to complete the race.

They escorted me to the ambulance on the track. I told the doctor there, “Everything hurts, but my right wrist is especially bad; it might be broken.” He asked me to make a fist and release it with both hands. I was able to do it. He said, “If it were broken, you couldn’t do that” and advised me to see a fully equipped hospital when I got back to Istanbul.

It turned out I had a fracture, which I learned from the tests I had done after returning to Istanbul.

Kemal Kantar and Nedim Finanser had organized the flight tickets and transfers. Hamit and I flew back to Istanbul, and Hamit drove me all the way home. After showering and settling in, I was sipping some whiskey with a plum, already thinking about my next race.

That night, I woke up suddenly feeling like there was an earthquake; the world was spinning. I thought about getting up to call for help but couldn’t move. “I think I’m having a brain haemorrhage,” I thought. The only thing on my mind was that people would say, “We told him to stop, but he didn’t listen. He died for his motorcycle.” If I was going to die, I wanted them to find me with a happy smile on my face, so they could say, “He died peacefully doing what he loved.” I eventually managed to cross my legs and put my hands behind my head, placing a happy smile on my face.

Life went on. I asked myself, “If you live, will you ride a motorcycle again?”

I didn’t hesitate for a second. “Yes -I said – as long as I’m breathing, alive, and healthy enough, I’ll ride a motorcycle.

The tests in Istanbul revealed additional bruises, contusions, and tears in my back, waist, and shoulder. I could only return to practice two months later, and I couldn’t complete that season.

This accident didn’t scare me away; on the contrary, it strengthened my passion. Because this is not just a sport for me, it’s a way of life, and I’ll never give it up. This incident gave me a great deal of perspective.

And if you’re wondering about the promise I made to Süleyman Memnun, it turns out I finished the race in third place, and my friends brought me the trophy.

Keeping my word made me forget all the pain