Shit happens

The mangy stray dog died. I survived with only bruises and grazes. And injured pride. Stiff and sore again. The bike suffered a few scratches and a bent brake handle. I rode it home.  If I was that way inclined, I’d say I was lucky.  As it is,  I say shit happens. There is not much one else one can say after the run I have had lately. 

I was riding home around the sea road, after a meeting with WHO. A very mangy dog ran out  in front of the bike. Like a fool I looked at it and could not take my eyes away. I should have looked to where I wanted to go.  I know the rule. You go where you look. I did not even have time to brake, though fortunately I was not going that fast.   I went straight into the dog, and thence straight onto the road. I was wearing gloves but my arm and leg were grazed again, my knee took another beating after the fall last week.  My overweight impact with the road left me bleeding, bruised and very sore.  The helmet is badly scratched, testifying that I could have been much worse off without it,  As it is, my neck hurts. 

The dog died in a pool of its own blood as I watched, shaken and shaking.  A gentleman bagged it and disposed of it, for which I was grateful.  I did not want to leave it there.  Mangy stray cur it may have been, but it was a creature of nature. 

Some very kind and considerate passers by gave me water, retrieved the bike from the middle of the road and offered me a ride to hospital.  When I refused, they sat with me as I recovered.  They generally restored my battered faith in people.  One brought me my watch which had come off in the accident, and lay in the road.  I had not even noticed.  Severely scratched, and with a broken pin, it was still going.

My clothes were ruined, my comfortable cool trousers and one of my last good unstolen short sleeve shirts torn, and splattered with my own blood,

I looked worse than I really was.  That is why bikers should wear armoured clothing.  But is is so hot here.  My gloves protected my hands, it was my elbow forearm and knee that took the punishment.  That poor knee of mine – that has had such a pounding over the years.  I was still limping a little from my fall last week.  Later I noticed a massive bruise on my hip, and my left thumb is also sprained.  Uncomfortable, I am reminded of the old Irish folk story of Finn MacCumhaill without the power of sitting or standing. 

It is, I believe 41
years since I last came off a motorcycle.  That was the Triumph Tigress
incident in my last year of high school, with the puppy in Metcalfe Road. Missed the puppy, hit the
road.

Dogged by misfortune…..

Well – I was desperately unhappy at the MOH, now I am desperately unhappy in Fiji, on less pay, and having been robbed of every valuable thing I own, and far away from family and friends.  But the weather is warmer.

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About Alan

Alone in a sea of spinifex.
This entry was posted in Life, don't talk to me about life!. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Shit happens

  1. Pingback: Death and Destruction | Hodophilia

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