The road is very good condition, the sun shines, but it is not too hot: Perfect motorcycling conditions.

I am driving through a soft landscape, a bit like the Ardennes. Tonight I want to be in Blumenau, the  "German" town in Brazil.

And then, in a long descending turn to the right: oil slick!

At this moment I probably drive at some 120 km / h. The bike skids immediately; I do not have the slightest chance to react.

All I see is that I slip to the opposite side of the road. The road has two lanes on that side. Two trucks are creeping up, one of them just set to pass the other one. I slip straight towards them. The driver of the overtaking truck reacts superbly: He breaks to death, falls back on the right side. My sliding stops in that lane he just was about to use.

This was close, really close ...

I get up, run to my bike which lies on the other side of the road.

The trucks continue their way, no one stopped. Nor the cars that were just behind me.
Finally a van stops by; the driver gets out and helps me to put my bike upright. It is badly banged up, the right luggage box is totally smashed. The gearbox is stuck. I manage to unlock it, start the engine: It starts immediately: good bike!

As for myself, I am not very much a pretty sight. My biker costume is in tatters, but it really did a good job, and protected me perfectly. I have no injuries, at least nothing serious. But my right leg hurts like hell. It is now the third time it gets hurt, and this time it is definitely serious. I can barely hobble. My hands are even worse. Because of the heat, I did not wear any gloves, and now I get the bill for this. The skin of the ball of my hands is gone, or just hangs loose, it does not bleed a lot but it really hurts. How will I be able to drive in this condition?

Before the shock of the crash starts to produce its effect, I restart my bike and leave immediately.

At a police station a bit further away, there is no first aid kit.

At the toll station, another 15 km away, someone finally cleans and bandages my hands.

I drive the remaining 400 km to Blumenau. After a while it gets more and more difficult to change gears, but I finally do reach my destination. I take a room in the first hotel I see, but when I want to drive my bike in the garage, it does not start anymore, refuses any service.

A taxi takes me to the hospital. The doctor does not speak any English, but perfectly German, after all we are in Blumenau. My leg gets X-rayed. While I am waiting for the result, I try to figure out how to continue my journey with a plastered leg. Then the result: Nothing broken just sprained. Good. The doctor cleans my hands once again, cuts the dead skin, and gives me a lot of painkillers.
Now, with a nice and clean bandage I am back in my hotel, prepared to spend a miserable night.

My tracks on the road