I’m lying face down, the bike is running still and I’m waiting for the big black dog to sink her teeth in me. Shouts from the road workers have sent the bitch running, but my leg is at a strange angle with the bike on top of it. Dave is muttering about the leg “not looking good” as he lifts the weight off me, but I’m a “very frexable lady” and the leg was OK.
The dog attack happened just as I was turning into a deep sandy off-ramp from road-works and it was about the 50th such sandy section of the morning as there were incompleted culverts about every 500 meters. So off we go through the next 200 km of gravel and sand to lunch where I fell asleep and couldn’t eat. The Captain (Bryan) declared it “delayed shock”. Anyway I have had sore ribs ever since and probably have cracked or bruised something.
I’m OK if I don’t breath. And it hasn’t stopped me doing ANYTHING.
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