Many years ago in the mid 1990s, I took my trusty Yamaha 900 (complete with the then Mrs ShipHill) over to Europe and I had only done about 10 miles or so after getting off the ferry in Calais when I came across an old British bike with the back wheel out on the hard shoulder and a man and woman looking quite fed up.
i stopped and offered any help I could and the guy said his back tyre had a puncture so could I take him to the next town.
Nah... have this 18 inch inner tube I've got here... and I got my spares out and gave him the brand new inner I always took on major jaunts. He offered me money but I flatly refused it.
I thought he was going to marry me.
The following tale contrasts sharply with the above and may make you dislike caroids more than you may already do.
I'm driving my car (boo!) back from town one wet and windy evening. It's dark, absolutely tipping down with rain, the wind is a blowing and it's pitch black. I'm pootling down the road to my village and just as I get to the first house there's a tree lay across the whole width of the road. 6 to 8 inches in diameter with hardly any leaves on it and quite thin branch wise.
So I pull up in plenty of time (attentive careful Reggie Molehusband that I am) and proceed to drag the tree out of the way.
Cars pull up from both directions and wait. None of the 3 or 4 car drivers offer any help whatsoever. They just sit and wait for me to drag the sopping wet heavy tree out of their way while they sit in the dry. Ah bless 'em. Pricks. I think 1 of them gave me a cursory wave as the tree was finally out the way and they sped off to their urgent meetings with Henry Kissinger or the life saving surgery they were just about to perform on a very poorly child.
I wish I could have dragged the tree out the way, driven my car past, then put the tree back before they had chance to move.
People eh.