Had an argument with the road… and the road won
I’ll keep this brief because I’m trying to keep the blood off my keyboard…
There’s an unwritten rule of the road in Asia: give way to anything bigger than you. It’s the compliment to the principal maxim ‘why go around it if you can go over it’? Lane markings are purely decorative. Trucks break for nobody. And I think I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen a turn signal put to use.
So as a motorcyclist you quickly learn to stay well away from anything with more than two wheels. That usually means riding on the shoulder of the road (which is actually the convention for motorcycles).
This isn’t a dig at the state of driver education in Thailand (that post is here). No one else was involved in my little accident (thankfully). I just mention it because that’s where I was where this little episode went down.
I’ve been bilking for some time now (like about a year), but most of that experience has been on the same, familiar roads in the immediate vicinity of my home. I figure if I’m going to ride across Asia I’d better start to venture a little further afield and get some experience navigating in less familiar territory.
Well, lucky I did. Because I’m learning already—the hard way (which is also the only way). And I’ve packaged my learning up into a neat little formula for The Journal of Rookie Motorcycling Mistakes:
shoulder + bend + lean + gravel = pain
Mucho daño.
I gotta say—that moment when you realize that things are about to get traumatic is an interesting one. A moment of disbelief. And then… Something strange happens to time. First it moves slowly. Then it seems to be missing. That happens about the time you register a total lost of traction with the ground. I guess another part of the brain kicks in at that point and sort of relieves you of command. It says ‘okay, I think you’ve done enough. I’ll take it from here’.
I’m no longer making decisions, just riding it out. Lucid. But without resistance. I don’t particular remember leaving my bike. But I know it wasn’t there while I was bouncing and spinning across the asphalt (or was it the world that was spinning?). Fortunately I was wearing a helmet (I usually don’t) otherwise my recollection might be very different.
My spidy-sense tells me that somewhere, off-retina, a car is pulling over and the driver, exiting. But this peripheral cognition is overshadowed by the awareness that large tracts of my skin feel like they were just polished with sand paper and I can’t think of much I would rather do than just lay here for a while.
I am however compos enough to figure out that the side of a road is not somewhere you want to be lying for any length of time, so I manage to get the top half of me upright and settle for sitting there instead.
The guy with the car door is standing nearby now interrogating me in Thai. I don’t understand the words, but logic dictates that he’s asking if I’m alright, and—remarkably, gratefully—I am. So I inform him of that fact. But I’m fairly preoccupied with dealing with the immediate repercussions of of sand-paper-skin (i.e. extreme discomfort). And he can figure this much out on his own.
I manage to hoist myself up on to the railing and slump there a while longer. Only now do I get another look at my bike—which is lying on its side about 15 metres away.
Soon another concerned party is on the scene. They give me water and call an ambulance. The driver of which—although I’ve suffered only minor, supericial injuries and there is no real emergency—still insists on putting my life in renewed danger by speeding to the local clinic at breakneck speed, spending more time operating the horn than the steering wheel. See what I mean about keeping it on the shoulder?
My wounds are dressed and I’m sent home to wait for my wife who was out when she got the news that her husband had a motorcycle accident on a road which apparently kills several each year.
I’m expecting something to the effect of “I told you so” (she did).
Instead she says:
It takes a long time to grow up and just a few seconds to die.
Word.
Lessons I learned on my date with the bitumen
- If you’re going to ride a motorcycle—Asia or not—do yourself a favor and wear shoes.
- Gravel’s good for neither riding on nor rolling around in. I don’t recommend either activity.
- Hitting the pavement is not as painful as you might think. It’s getting up again that hurts the most.
- Intensity is good (sometimes). It wakes you up and puts you back in your body.
Things I’m grateful for
- I’m grateful I was wearing a helmet today (I usually don’t)
- I’m grateful I got this experience just a few miles from home instead of in the middle of the Cambodian wilderness. It was a relatively gentle wake-up call that could have been much worse.
- I’m grateful this happened on a quiet, country road and not on the Bangkok express way.
- I’m grateful some helpful folks where on the scene and quick to come to my aid.
- I’m grateful—very grateful—there was nobody else on the bike.
I’ll spare you the gruesome pics of my skinned palms. All things considered, I was pretty lucky to get off with a few cuts and bruises. I’ll be a wiser rider from now on.
Your turn. Tell me your tails of near misses.
Glad you made it out ok! Definitely good you were wearing a helmet. No shoes though?? crazy. Hope you don’t get shaken up too much. Take it easy when you get back to riding. Ease into it as it can be tough after a scare like that.
Thanks, Bucko! Lucky thing about the helmet. Could have been nasty. Easing back into it now. Yeah—usually just wearing standard Thai footwear which means open toes. But that phrase has a whole new meaning for me now—ugh.
Congratulations for trying and failing.
This experience will save your life someday, I’m sure of it.
You gonna ride again?
Went for a ride yesterday! Dude, what you call “failure”, I call “data”
Thanks for the well wishes, bud. And, I think you’re right. Cheers!
Man, your wife sounds awesome. After someone’s scared me like that I can barely restrain the urge to slap em around.
I remember this one time I was driving a vac truck on an ice road, and predictably, I only had a half load of fluid on (cuz otherwise I’m too heavy for the road). Fluid is known as a ‘live load’ because the weight shifts so unpredictably, and vac trucks don’t have baffles for stability like water trucks do. They are very, VERY prone to rolling. And the tanks are pressure vessels, so *they* have a tendency to do nasty things like twist the frame and squish the cab.
I loved how you wrote about being lucid, but without resistance. And the way some kind of autopilot kicks in and says, “I’ll take it from here.”
I was coming up to a corner that was soft and I knew I had to take it at a pretty good speed to avoid being bogged down and stuck; I hate getting stuck. EVERYONE remembers when the girl gets stuck.
So I took this corner in second gear — lots of power, a fair head of steam — and I really have no idea what happened next — the truck started to pirouette and there’s nothing, NOTHING I can do. If I touch the brakes or the steering wheel, I’ll be off the road for sure, so I just hang on the gear shift and brace the wheel.
I came to, so to speak, on the shoulder, pointed the opposite direction. I have one set of wheels off the ice, and I think that’s actually what stopped me from going over, that little bit of drag. I had the shakes for like an hour, and I dreamed about it all winter. Spooked me real good.
But at least I’m not the smallest damn thing on the road. What are you? Crazy?
She’s a force to be reckoned with. Trust me, when she has the urge to slap me around, she doesn’t restrain herself.
So were you a trucker in a past life? Those Vac Truck’s look like they’re really hard to drive. Hard to get a sense of where your extremities are in a vehicle that big. Was your near miss an intense, adrenaline pumping experience or did that auto-pilot mode keep you surprisingly calm? I’ve found sometimes those experiences that are scary to anticipate seem very different once you’re in them.
Loved the story. Thanks for sharing, Shanna!
Yeah, I trucked in the Alberta oilfields. I didn’t mind the vac trucks– no trailer to push you around. My dad tells hair-raising stories of trying to race his B-trains (trailers) to the bottom of a mountain (if you let them get a head of you, they jack knife, and they’re heavier, so they go faster)
It was an intense experience, my heart was pounding– but it wasn’t the gibbering fear like you see people have on roller-coasters. If anything, the adrenaline was annoying, because like in pretty much every near-miss I’ve ever been in, you really want to twist the wheel or hit the brakes. It’s exactly the wrong thing to do 99% of the time– but it makes you feel like you’re in control.
So mostly I just hung on and it’s only because I had experience that I was able to freeze in the face of all that adrenaline. In my first major accident (when I was sixteen), I overcorrected repeatedly and wound up rolling my mom’s car down a big steep hill. (10 rolls! but that’s a story for another day)
if you’re interested, this is one of the vehicles I drove, back in the day. (The trailer is for living in on the drilling rig site) http://img.ca.cars.cozot.com/pics/ca/2011/03/26/Edmonton-Mack-Vac-Truck-with-Rig-Site-Shack-20110326141534.jpg
Glad to hear you are OK now!
I have had a few accidents, some of them not as injurious but definitely dangerous; actually sliding down a busy street in Lahore, with the motorbike under you, to find the sleeves of your shirt have actually vanished due to the “involuntary tarmac exposure” – all without a helmet – is definitely dangerous. And Lahore’s streets would remind you of Bangkok’s, only they are smaller and more prone to rash driving.
Accidents are not really accidents, if you know what I mean. I consider them God’s way of reminding us of our priorities and to show the utterly brittle nature of our plans. The graveyard is full of indispensable people, right?
I do hope that whatever you do end up deciding, about your own life, your own priorities and your own plans, I do hope that you stay happy and safe.
God bless and good luck man.
“Involuntary tarmac exposure”— lol. Love it.
More prone to rash driving than Bangkok? That has to be seen to be believed 
Man, that sounds intense. Exactly right, Momekh. I’m actually really glad I had this experience even though it was briefly fairly painful. All things considered I got off pretty lightly and it’s definitely prepared me to be a better rider in the future. Thanks for sharing, bud.
If you can drive in Lahore, then you can drive anywhere! (and fly a spaceshuttle with your eyes closed and with one hand)
I actually did come to Thailand (remember the ‘earn from affiliate marketing and then head out to Thailand thingymajigy?
) …
And did hire a bike in Phuket, me and my wife. And drove around in Bangkok (but not as much). The traffic jams in Bangkok; now THAT was intense! But it did remind me of Lahore’s driving and I did not feel any different
And yes, you gotta see it to believe it
“It takes a long time to grow up and just a few seconds to die.”
That gives me shivers!
The Michigan equivalent of Thai roads is winter driving…an exercise in audacity all on its own. The scariest near-miss I ever had was a few years ago, on a trip to my sister’s and less than ten miles from her house. The roads were icy, snowy, and slushy, it was dark, and out of nowhere a huge truck came blasting thru an intersection running a stop sign and missing me by inches. I felt exactly the same time-slow-down and void of consciousness that you describe. And after those few seconds of sheer terror, I was utterly amazed to find that not only was I still alive, but miraculously still in control of my vehicle. My heart is pounding just thinking about it.
I’ll never forget that, and I’ll always be grateful to Whatever It Was that kept me safe that night.
Here’s to “gentle” wake up calls, Lach. Heal up well!
Did you stop to reflect on what was so terrifying about those few moments? The idea that you’re not in control? The idea that it might all be ending? The idea that you’re fragile and breakable? What is it?
Not being in control, and even more, the reminder that we think we’re more in control than we are. Any time we hit the road, whatever the vehicle, anything can happen. Being fragile and breakable is part of it, too. I’m less afraid of dying in a car crash than being horribly injured in one. The worst injury I’ve ever had only required a few stitches, and the thought of anything worse really scares me.
But actually, I don’t dwell on stuff like that. My Dad always says, “don’t live your life in anticipation of disaster,” and any time I go on a road trip, I go with the full belief that I’ll arrive safe and sound. And I always have.
when I started reading this I thought you had already left on your grand motorcycle adventure… good to see that you are doing some trial runs and I believe that this experience was meant to prepare you for your journey. Glad your ok man, keep doing big things and sharing them with us… you’re an inspiration!
~Mike
Yup—I’d say that’s exactly what it was for
Thanks for the kind words, bud. Hope this is the last post I have to write about being that close to the tarmac.
Do you think you’ll be wearing your helmet from here on out? I’m glad you were safe and it worked out ok. I don’t begrudge anyone ever riding a motorcycle and my husband has talked for sometime about purchasing one. I just don’t plan on riding on one myself. I can jump out of planes and go white water rafting but those things simply don’t scare me like anything that goes fast on a road with other people.
Great website! And you’re so right. I’ve done lots of scary things recently and my life got SO MUCH BETTER. So I’m on the road for more.
Crikey – you are living on the edge! I want pics of your skinned palms. Good to hear you’re ok. Get a pair of kevlar gloves, very handy (excuse the pun).
Ouch! Good to hear you’re not too badly injured.
I stumbled across this blog and loved it. I got to the final post, and it just seems to have died on the vine. What happened?