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Without even thinking about it, I grabbed a handful of front brake. The front end skidded, tucked under and down I went, over the bars in a graceful flying W, landed in the bushes on the side of the creek bank and rolled straight into the damn creek into a two feet deep pool of muddy stinking brackish water.
I was dizzy, covered in muck, soaked, scratched and cut. Clouds of hungry mozzies surrounded me. Something in the water was feeding om my bare legs. My bike was hung up on a root half way down the bank, and that damn dog was peering at me thru the bushes from the top of the bank, big red tongue hanging out with what seemed like a huge grin on his face.
Presently, a lady appeared, the owner of the mongrel, and also stood looking down at me sitting in the muck. She shook her head in amazement, called the dog, and continued up the track without so much as a word to me.
I guess that she thought I was some sort of devo nature freak indulging in an arcane water ritual or something..
As for me, I dragged myself out of the creek, and quickly and unobtrusively as I could, made my way back home to the hot shower.
Nothing on the bike was damaged, but I had numerous cuts and bruises, and boy oh boy did that hot water in the shower sting!! My clothes stunk of sour creekwater and had to be washed twice to get rid of the smell.
I guess the moral of this story is: He who rides too fast, flies too far.
R.
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