~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On one of the dark narrow lanes, he
became aware of a car coming up fast behind him. He looked in the mirror,
trying to assess the make of the vehicle, but its headlights were on bright and
nearly blinded him. Veering to the right, he angled as far as possible to the
edge of the road, leaving more than adequate room for the vehicle to pass. Too
late he realized it had no intention of passing. With the powerful vehicle
coming straight for the rear of his motorbike, he swerved sharply and felt his
front wheel leave the edge of the road. For a moment he thought he had control,
and then the bumper of the larger vehicle tapped his rear fender, and all
control was gone.
His only thought, as the bike went over,
was to roll off the pavement and away from the bike. If he landed on the
roadway, whoever had hit him could too easily back and finish the job. Landing
hard on one shoulder, he pitched into a somersault that left him winded and
flat on his back.
He levered himself up, looking for the
car. All he saw were disappearing rear lights. His motorcycle was lying at a
sad angle on the low bank of the road.
Son of a bitch, he thought, still feeling the shock of
the fall and scarcely able to believe it had happened. Was it a careless driver
or had someone just tried to kill him? Shakily he got to his feet and walked to
his bike. With the rear fender pushed into the wheel and broken spokes, he
wasn't going to be riding it anyplace soon.
Rubbing his arm, he debated if he had
pulled a ligament or something more serious. His shoulder hurt and reaching up,
he found a bleeding abrasion where the shirt had ripped. Still shaking, he took
longer than usual to unfasten his helmet and secure it to the damaged bike.
That helmet had probably saved his life or at the very least stood between him
and another ugly head injury.
Forests on all sides of him, the nearest
house at least a block away. He wished his role here hadn’t proscribed no cell
phone and tried to think how far back Bonie's house might be, but he couldn't
even remember the roads he'd taken down the hill, let alone had any hope of
making it back up them.
When he began to walk, he discovered
he'd twisted his left ankle. Limping, he smiled grimly at his realization that
this was the perfect ending to an already tough day--painfully walking in the
dark, on a road he didn't know, heading for no place. The story of his life.
What kind of a life was that?
