It’s not all a bed of roses.

This is where it all starts to fall apart.

I had had a fantastic ride down to Motril, a cup of coffee and a few jealous making snaps and banter to my friends. I set the bike aiming towards Orgiva.

Twists and turns through Motril and then off the mainish road down to the roundabout. Turning left, I was indicating to come off the roundabout, a car slowing to stop on my right hand side, but the driver had not seen me and accelerated into my side, pain, I was flying and knew it wouldn’t end well, I landed head then my back.

The pain in my leg and back was excruciating and blood was gushing out of my leg onto the ground… hmmm that’s not good. Cars stopping, people swarming, Spanish from many different mouths, I could only feel pain. I was not knocked out, I looked up to see my beloved Reilly being moved to the side of the road, my light, for visibility, forlornly blinking at me. The driver of the car was crying, I was crying (I do have a history of crying). The police were there she was admitting culpability. Ambulance called, all the emergency services were fantastic, we gesticulated our way to the hospital.

There I was treated to stitches in my leg and multiple x rays to my ribs. The prognosis was….. nothing broken.

I took a taxi to the police lockup, collected my bike and took a taxi back to my apartment.

Battered and bruised, I forgot to get a police report number but remembered to get a taxi receipt.

Ripped shirt, ripped base layer, ripped gloves, dented helmet, ripped shorts, scuffed shoes broken Garmin 1030……. socks ok.

Now I’m ok while I stay here but as many of you know I am of no fixed abode when in UK so nowhere to rehabilitate, No doctor to go to. Nowhere to get off the plane and go to.

I’m also supposed to be going to India on 18th Jan……… it’s a fucking mess and I am miserable.