Accidented.

The first time I rented a motorcycle was in Luang Prabang, Laos, and we took it on a gorgeous road trip out of town, through the hills and rural villages all the way to the Kouang Si waterfalls. On our way back, as we tried to beat the sunset and overcome the onslaught of gnats slapping our faces my bike turned off going uphill on a curve (I forgot to change gears), receded a bit and then fell on its right side, throwing me into a ditch. The fall also broke the breaks to the bike, a small detail I didn't notice until later, when I was driving down a dark hill with a car coming in my direction and realized I couldn't stop the bike. I made it work and finished the night with some silly bruises and some stress on my neck.

The second time I rented a motorcycle was in Hue, Central Vietnam, because I was feeling sick, Andrea was staying in to rest her cold and I figured the only way to keep from wasting my day would be to bike out to the countryside by myself and visit the ancient tombs of Nguyen Emperors that are one of the main attractions of the town. I had a lovely day and miraculously kept myself from getting lost with a shitty map and a smile for every road side vendor I asked directions of in broken english. Two blocks away from our hostel, a motorcycle suddenly crossed my path in a small intersection and I pressed on the breaks, lost my balance and fell on my left side. A man helped me and the motorcycle up, and I made it home with just a small scrap on my left foot.

The third time I rented a motorcycle was in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, because the apartment we were staying in was a bit far from the center of town and we were spending too much time and money in taxis. The city is motorbike madness, with zipping bikes going every which way and outnumbering cars at least 20 to 1. I had already ridden our friend Kristen's and felt confident taking on the challenge. We spent the day at the War Remnants Museum, our second visit to finish off what we couldn't take in the first time, met up with a Vietnamese friend, Tuan Anh, to play pool and headed back home with him showing us the way. On a flat, empty road, as we sped up a bit, a car surprisingly crossed in front and again I thought like a car driver and not a biker; I pressed hard on the breaks instead of slowing down and before I knew it the bike was sliding forward on its side and I was rolling back like in action movies.

The full story is better told in person, with exaggerations, reactions and gory details that would lose their full effect in written form, but the good news is I'm alive and well... although quite achy and bruised up. The final tally is a hairline fracture in the bone on top of my two front teeth, nasty bruises in my right hand, left elbow, knees, left foot and upper lip, a profoundly self-pitying mood that I'm trying to drag myself out of, a small limp useful for requesting wheel chairs in airports and the groaning sounds of a rusty old lady.

La tercera es la vencida, ah?

(in Spanish, instead of third time's a charm, we say third time's defeat... I'll say)