Write a narrative based on the title ‘A Horrifying Accident’.

Perhaps mine wasn’t the worst crash but it came quite close to scoring in the top
three though.

All those Moto GP riders think they are competing in the toughest race the world has
ever known, but they have no idea how hard it is to be behind the handle of
Motocross Dirt Bikes. All they do is ride and swerve around turns at breakneck
speeds. We do these with ups and downs on the track as well! Don’t get me wrong,
I’m not bragging, just trying to justify my crash.

So here I am, two days before the first elimination round, up at seven. Why am I up
so early? Because I need to put in some effort to beat the crazies who have been up
since three. It had rained in the night, heavily, from the look of the surroundings.
Miniature lakes were forming. Trees were heavy with the added weight of water.
Rocks lay shining in the first rays of sunlight: a dangerous sign for us experienced
riders (it takes only a single slip for the newbies to gain the necessary experience).
Mud had slid onto the track, bringing with it the smell of damp earth and wet fur.

While rain has its advantages in cooling the body and settling dust, it has its
disadvantages in making rocks slippery and mud all slushy. And so it was, when I was
taking my second lap and trying to beat the time that I decided I’d try to experiment
with the upcoming jump. Instead of accelerating in the traditional way by going off
the top in a straight line, I tried to veer off the edge and land in a drift. I guess it
would have worked, except for that blasted branch that caught me with a cowardly
right hook.

I landed with a bone-jarring impact that made me bite my tongue. A sour taste of
blood invaded my mouth, but no time to concentrate on that. The bike was veering
from side to side in an uncontrolled fashion. The world became a haze of brown,
yellow and green that challenged my eyes to focus. With desperation, I clung onto
the handle and wrestled with it.

The handle won the fight.

The front wheel caught something and with a a screeching of tires fit to make your
blood curdle, the vehicle jack-knifed, sending me, a mass of sprawling limbs, a good
ten feet into the air. The descent from there went in slow motion; the shrubs and
mud were small patches that grew larger and more detailed as they flew beneath.
Then, in the fraction of a second, it rushed up to meet me, hard, rough and
merciless; like a freight train knocking out a bicycle.

The speed made me tumble a good distance down the slope. Finally, this journey
was ended by a very helpful tree that stood stubbornly in the way. I crashed into it
and lay there, shocked out of my wits, with mud all over my face.
Slowly, I tested every joint in my body. Nothing broken, but everything rattled. After
a decade, I finally got to my quivering feet and wobbled forward like jelly. Hopefully
the bike would be in a better condition than me.

- Akshay Padmakumar (Tridha, 2011)