Getting Scraped Off The Road After A Motorbike Crash in Greece
A couple of days ago, my boyfriend and I were on our way back home from Athens (we live in a village on an island called Salamina, about an hour away from downtown Athens with the motorbike), and just after getting off the ferry, it happened. My first actual motorbike crash. I’ve had some close calls before, a bad burn, and one or two little tips only going a few kph, but this was a proper crash.
My boyfriend was driving and I was on the back. He had a helmet, but I didn’t, as we only have one. I was looking the other way, and didn’t see what happened exactly, but suddenly felt the crash coming. First I grabbed onto my boyfriend, thinking maybe we could avoid the crash (and knowing the importance of working with the driver and not fighting them in close calls). Not an instant later, I realized the bike was actually going down. I know in a motorbike accident, you are supposed to get away from the bike, which I tried to do. But I failed, instead somehow managing to get completely tangled up with my boyfriend and the bike as we slammed into the pavement, skidding along the road. As we hit the pavement, I managed to keep my head tucked so as to not hit it, but I heard the crack of my boyfriend’s helmet on the ground and my heart stopped.
Oh my god, oh my fucking god, is he okay?!?!?!
I hit my leg hard as we went down, but it wasn’t until I saw my boyfriend’s intact face that I really felt it.
“Tara! Tara, are you okay?” he cried out above the noise of blaring horns, as we tried to untangle ourselves.
“Giorgo (my boyfriend’s Greek name)! Giorgo!” I heard someone call out from behind.
“I’m okay, but ahhh my fucking leg,” I managed to gasp.
Before we had successfully untangled ourselves, there were three men around us, asking if we were okay, and helping us to the side of the road. The one who had called out my boyfriend’s name, a nice guy who works at another stall at the farmer’s market where ‘Giorgo’ works, and the other two men checked our injuries briefly and inquired if we wanted an ambulance. But we were fine, scraped up and soon-to-be-bruised, but nothing too serious. As the men sat talking for a minute, I leaned onto the median, gasping in pain, but trying not to show it. Oh shit, my fucking leg!
For those who don’t know, I have a history of breaking bones. Like twenty. And most of those were from very small incidents. While it has (thankfully) been a few years since I have broken a bone, I still am always wary after an injury until I know it’s not broken.
So, I was terrified I had broken my leg again. And I don’t have insurance right now. Oh my god. What am I going to do? I stretched out my leg. It hurt, but wasn’t as bad as it could be. Tentatively, I put my weight down on my leg. A sharp pain shot through it, but not the broken bone kind of pain (after as many as I have had, I can usually tell the difference pretty quickly). I was so relieved I almost cried. But we were in the middle of the busy road, so I didn’t.
The motorbike was damaged, so ‘Giorgo’ and I took his friend’s motorbike, and his friend took ours back to our house. After we were home safe, and his friend confirmed we really were okay, he left us to unwind after the incident.
We sat, shaken, for a couple of minutes, confirming, now that we were alone, that we really were okay. ‘Giorgo’ rolled a joint, which we smoked together before falling asleep, exhausted from the scare.
I suppose the lessons I should learn from this are: have insurance, and wear a helmet. I want insurance, but don’t have the money. Nothing to be done now. When I have the money, I’ll get it. And when I have a helmet, I almost always wear it. But if I don’t have one, I have a hard time letting that stop me from having my adventures. Not sure what that says about me, but it is what it is.
Have you ever crashed a motorbike? What happened? I always love hearing your stories, too!