When was the last time you asked yourself, “What was I thinking?!”
One time immediately springs to mind. It was in 2010 or ’11 and I was living in Antananarivo, Madagascar. My usual mode of transport was either my trusty old Yamaha XT350 motorbike, lovingly referred to as the Beast, or my bicycle. On this particular Sunday I had cycled to church in the morning, it was around lunch time and I was just starting the long climb home up a dreaded, much-travelled hill.
It was a typical hot, muggy Tana day, with the lunchtime traffic slowly snaking up the slope. I had developed a mild hatred of said hill, which I had to tackle so often at the end of a long day teaching. As a result, I had perfected the art of catching up to a minibus taxi or truck near the bottom, before it got too steep, grabbing on to the back and letting it pull me to the crest.
But back to the Sunday in question. I cruised past my friends the Midgleys, who had also just left church in their little Hyundai. Seeing a taxi in front of me I upped the tempo, keen not to have to climb the cliff under my own steam. But as I got alongside, and as I was considering how and where to grab onto it, another cyclist swerved into the road in front of me from the pavement. I changed direction just slightly but my handlebar caught the side of the taxi, flipping my front wheel 90 degrees to the frame. And down I crashed – straight over the handlebars – greeting the tar with my face.
And the whole world came to a standstill. The taxi’s passengers stared at me, saying nothing. The cyclist stared at me, and I shot a “What were you thinking?” glare towards him. I guess I should have asked myself the same question but I didn’t. All the pedestrians stopped and stared. Everything stopped. But no-one tried to help. I was a foreigner, and in Madagascar one doesn’t help foreigners. Suffering from a severely bruised ego, I picked myself up, checked that everything was intact and raced up the hill (helped by a fair amount of adrenalin), stopping off at the Midgley’s home on the way.
“That was so weird,” one of them said when they arrived home after me. “The traffic was flowing fine and then it just stopped dead. I wonder what happened?” I showed them my face. One of them probably asked, “What were you thinking?” I seem to have blocked that from my memory.
How about you? Do you have any “What was I thinking” anecdotes?
5 Comments on “When was the last time you asked yourself, “What was I thinking?!””
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They called me weed
I have been blogging here since around April 2011 - my little place on the blogosphere to express myself creatively. As a teenager I used to write a diary - in fact, as a 17-year-old living in Belgium, I wrote religiously every day. Fortunately the Internet didn't exist back then because my ramblings as a teenager were ever-so-slightly dark, cynical and depressing. You won't find much of that here. Also, mostly, I try not to get too deep or philosophical in this forum - I'd like my photography to uplift and inspire, and, where I can, I try to bring a bit of humour into my writing too. I've been fortunate enough to travel extensively and have made many friends across the globe. This is my spot to keep in touch with them.
Ouch!
Ahh, the good old days.
I have just a few words in answer to your question: Kyalami; you, Nige and my catering; unhappy (understatement of the century) um…clients. WHAT WAS I THINKING??????
Oh my goodness! Glad you were alright. Madagascar doesn’t sound very friendly.
It seems I ask myself that question everyday!
I had just looked at that very picture (discovered it while searching old files on my computer), and laughed, when I opened your blog. Imagine my complete surprise when the picture I had looked at, about a minute ago, popped up on my screen! Oh, your bike adventures were quite notorious. You will be amazed how many comments have been made about your bike skills, now that I have a scooter!