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?