Without permission from the council, who owned the buildings, police stopped the initial attempt. But three weeks later, with clouds hovering over the buildings, Taylor and his band of helpers returned to the bleak urban landscape.
“We kept knowledge (of the jump) to about 10 lads. I didn’t tell my mum, she wouldn’t have been happy. We set the jump up and we had to pull the bike up the side of the high building, 10 of us pulling it up.
“One nearly fell over the edge, but we got the bike up the night before the jump because we were going to do it at 9am the next day.
“We set up at 7am, and sealed off the top of the roof so police couldn’t come and take us off. I noticed a lot of cars and people gathered around the bottom.”
Then all that was left was the sound of the motorbike’s revs, the sight of the run to the ramp, the towering middle building, and empty grey sky beyond. Taylor was to come within inches of death.
“It comes to the big drop and I’ve seen it coming. The bike bottomed out (on landing) and my back took the rest,” he says.
“There was a 12 inch parapet around the top of the roof, which actually saved me from falling off because I’d fallen into that.
“The second I landed I felt the pain was tremendous – it felt like every organ had fallen off its holding and splattered to the ground.
“I felt the snap in my back and all of a sudden it was just complete darkness. It felt like I was getting my head kicked in.
“If you can imagine a mask and you can’t see anybody and there’s about six guys kicking you, with heavy boots on, as hard as they can, that’s what it felt like. At that point everything just went, no pain, no nothing, into darkness.