DISCLAIMER
Firstly let me say that I am not a professional physician. The contents are based on my own experience and should not be taken as medical advice.
How it happened
April 2016 - I was traveling in Thailand with a good friend of mine. We started in Bangkok and made our way down south to the islands. Anyone who was been to Koh Samui should know that the island is notorious for motorcycle accidents. So infamous in fact, that the scars left from crashes and exhaust pipe burns are lovingly referred to as Samui tattoos.
We had been having a fantastic time so far. The trip had been filled with great experiences and a wonderful time meeting people. But when we came to the island it all changed for me. I had no idea how much I would fall in love with this place! For me, having been an enthusiastic motorcycle rider since as young as I can remember, an island which was as passionate about their bikes as they were about their food seemed to be like heaven to me.
Of course we had to rent bikes. My companion went for a scooter. I had to get something with manual gears though and since I was used to riding trials and motorcross but didn't want to break the bank, a 125cc crosser would do the trick for me. The next few days we were in paradise. I taught my friend how to ride and before no time we were enjoying the sun pounding down, wind in our faces and taking in the breathtaking sites while riding through the towns and villages.
On the third day, as we got out a bit further my friend wanted to head back for a rest. We rode back but when we arrived at the huts I decided to stay out and ride a bit longer. I headed to the next town over, where I'd previously spotted a music shop with a few guitars in the window that I wanted to check out. As it turned out, all the nice instruments belonged to the owner, as his wife told me, but he liked to display them in the shop anyway. I left after buying a few picks and strings.
It was getting hot. Really hot and humid and on the ride back I could feel the dehydration start to creep in. There was a layby not far from the town where we stayed so I decided to pull over. Exiting the mainroad, I must have been going around 40kph. It's a well known phenomenon that the majority of accidents happen just after leaving a free way. The human brains perception of speed is warped after traveling at a higher speed and this can cause people to crash.
The layby was wide with a gravel surface, and a fence on one side guarded from a cliffedge overlooking the ocean. I wanted to get a closer look so I turned the bike and headed back down the way I came. Too fast. As I got to the end I wanted to spin the bike around, like the donuts we used to do in soft mud back home, but little did I forget....the gravel was loose...the tires bald...this wasn't home....the bike slipped...the flash of heat...the searing red pain. I picked the pick up and threw it down again in rage.
How stupid could I be. But all I knew was that I was okay. Hobbling along I knew that my foot couldnt be broken. If it was I would surely not be able to stand. Then, before there was even time to think, two bus drivers were next to me asking me if everything was okay. "I'm fine!" I said. "No! NO!" they replied, pointing at my arm. Then I saw the blood streaming from my forearm.
We agreed maybe I wasn't fine, but I insisted I didn't need an ambulance. They kindly offered to patch me up though with a first aid kit they had in the bus. Truly, I was blessed to be met with such kindness from strangers who asked nothing in return. I hopped back over to the bike, straightened out the wing mirror, jump on and managed to rode to the nearest 7/11 minimart without killing myself or anyone else. Paracetemol and a 6-pack of beer and the story of HARM begins...
To be continued.....