Bump and Grind.

I’d been robbed, I’d experienced extreme acts of kindness, I’d seen remarkable scenery, natural wonders, sampled cultural smorgasbord and eaten delectably varied cuisine. There was, however, one thing missing, given that this is a motorcycle trip. Yes, that’s right, a crash. I had been pleased with my ability to stay out of trouble, with nothing to speak of thus far. This came to an abrupt, skin-tearing halt near Buon Ma Thuot.

The ride from Kon Tum had been frustrating, due to a combination of a bone-juddering road surface and the erratic driving of others; I simply wanted to get off the bike and relax. Around eight miles from Buon Ma Thuot, the road widens to a six-lane highway, with the middle four lanes reserved for vehicles and the outer two for motorcycles. The motorcycle lane was rammed, but the vehicle lanes were empty, so I decided to take advantage by building some speed on the now smooth, flat and straight road.

This strategy was working very well, for the motorcycles were separated from me by railings and the middle lanes empty. Coming to a junction of sorts, I could see the bright yellow scooter of two girls coming towards the turning, clearly intent on doing a U-turn. In preparation, I moved to the far edge of my lane, leaving them what was in effect two lanes to make their manoeuvre. This, however, was seemingly not enough, for they swooped in a wide arc across both lanes, and I saw the gap between them and the railings closing quickly. I beeped the horn frantically. I shouted at them. They didn’t hear me. At 50mph, this was most unwelcome and there was no time to stop. My heart sank, resigned to my fate and, within seconds, I was skidding along the tarmac, skin and clothes ripping. I’d hit their front wheel, narrowly avoiding the railings and fortunately landing on my side rather than my head.

I lay on the ground shocked and unable to move, with the various shredded parts of my body hurting greatly. My leg hurt; had it broken when it hit the railings? The girls stopped to take a look and then rode off, while I promptly passed out, presumably from shock. I came round later to the sight of a crowd of bystanders congregating around me, two of whom had removed my helmet and were cradling my head.

After getting up shakily some minutes later, yet more kindness quickly came to the fore. A local lady, called Von, came and asked if I was alright. I’d crashed outside her beauty parlour and she wheeled my bike across the road to the nearest mechanic (smashed lights and mirrors, bent gear shifter and foot peg) before beckoning me inside and cleaning and dressing my grazes. We chatted as she pulled glass from my knee and I felt terribly sorry for her, since her husband had died some eight months before, leaving her by herself with a young daughter. After checking that I was okay for the umpteenth time, she allowed me to go slowly on my way; I would return the next day with a token of my appreciation.

After checking into my hotel, I simply lay for an hour or so, taking in the gravity of what had happened. I had become very confident on the bike and had perhaps been a little complacent, but that didn’t excuse the shockingly careless driving of those who had collided with me, nor did it excuse their flight when I lay stricken on the road. One possible explanation for their vanishing act is that they would have suffered the wrath of the locals; Von (having observed the crash from her door) said disparagingly that they were minority girls; perhaps this local attitude precipitated their hasty departure. It was either that or they simply weren’t bothered, I suppose. In any case, this episode was a timely, painful and oh-so-nearly costly reminder of the hazards of the road.