He's got a ticket to ride!

I used to love singing that Beatles song: “She’s got a ticket to ride” with Isaac or Felix (the Haitian Sensations – 3 year sons of Bev and Kendell Kauffeldt) holding wildly onto the handlebars as we bombed around on the Yamaha AG-100. We used to ride on the gravel roads around our compound singing that song without a care in the world, screaming with delight as we hit the potholes (more so Felix and Isaac doing the screaming with Uncle Marcel going faster with each nervous giggle from the boys). Oh the joys of the AG100! I loved to jump on the steed early in the morning and wake up with the crisp air. Then there was the one time that two friends and I went for a guys weekend out to Bong Mines with the bikes. I will not elaborate on that trip, nor post pictures (for good reason).

All of the happy thoughts on the bike came to crashing down on Saturday night. I was coming back from Kendell’s house to my bungalow on the beach, a distance of perhaps 500 feet, and one that I can ride blindfolded if need be, when my presumptuous nature took a bit of a nose dive.

I had just picked up a coffee grinder from Kendell’s place so I could make a Dutch delicacy (gevuld speculaas…I can see the rolling of the eyes from many of the readers who know of my fondness for anything Dutch and abstract) and I was on the way back home. I was going about 40km/h, when out of nowhere I spotted a dog run like a bat out of hell from my right flank. Normally the mutts of ELWA compound will chase the proverbial tire and give you a little fright in the night, but this one had a different idea: run in front of the bike and then chase the tire. Unfortunately, for both parties involved, I never gave it that chance.

The force of the impact knocked my front tire to the side, but not before I managed to run over the unfortunate beast. My fate was also quite disagreeable; however, for the witnesses the entertainment value was substantially higher, since it proved to be more of an aerial display. The front tire, after running over the hound proceeded to land at a slightly perpendicular angle to the road in a six inch gully. The results were simply spectacular. I was finally able to live up to my self-proclaimed title as “The Flying Dutchman.” I flew with poise and confidence, but lost points in the landing. I may have to contest with the judges, since it was a three point landing (perhaps a two point landing would have garnered a higher score). And what were those three points of contact? 1) my large forehead, 2) the right elbow and 3) the right knee. It was followed up with a slight readjustment on the landing which resulted in the spraining of the left wrist. The entire sequence was unrehearsed, yet to some (namely an Aussie or a Kiwi) it was inspirational.

This fairly magnificent “endo” took place in front of my friend Anna’s house. I laid there in the middle of the road with chunks of gravel embedded in my forehead and a few rock specimens in my mouth. As I laid there contemplating the idea of passing out, my friend Anna (along with an entourage of friends) ran over to my side to determine my condition with one question on her mind: Was I about to pass out or pass away?

[Side Note: At that moment I was not coherent and the sight of blood all along my arm made me think that I had been in an accident. I find it bizarre that when an accident first occurs there is this peaceful moment of denial where the victim does not groan in pain. There is simply existence and the first thought that goes through one’s mind is: “Whatever just happened was bad!” The connection between the accident actually having happened to the victim has not yet occurred and in that moment there is a strange sense of peace. Then the pain sets in and the mirage of denial is torn from the mind.]

Groan. My friend Anna yelled at me. That brought me to my senses. If you have ever had a South African woman yell at you, you know what I mean. (By the way, Anna is a very, very nice person and a good friend.) Why did she yell at me? Well, I sheepishly admit that I was not wearing a helmet. This is shocking to some of you, since I am huge advocate of wearing a bike helmet. I can put forward a list of excuses, but if you look at the pics below you will realize that this is would be a waste of space.

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I went to the hospital up the road where they cleaned my wounds and stitched me up. While driving to the hospital I asked Kendell, “How do I look?” He looked over at me and smiled, “Like you’ve landed on your forehead at a pretty good clip.” He parked the truck and Melissa helped me to the hospital. As we were walking in a lady looked up at me and in a loud exclamation called out, “Sweet Jesus!” Mel laughed and looked over at me: “Does that answer your question?!”

The lesson I have learned from this incident: Never run over a dog at night with too much speed and on a small motorbike!

(Oh, and wearing a helmet is a good thing too!)