I had bought a train ticket to K.L. and my usual taxi driver was navigating us through the horrendous traffic jam down the main street toward the train station. Cars were coming and going on the roughly paved single-lane village road. I'd never seen so much traffic in Kampar. But, of course, it was the first day of Hari Raya.
People were coming into town, passing through town and leaving town to get to wherever their home town was. Kampar roads were not built with Hari Raya in mind.
So, as the traffic opened up, my taxi driver eased his way into the passing lane and excellerated. I said, "All this traffic! I'm so glad I don't have a car."
"Glad?" he asked.
"Yes, I don't like to drive. I don't even like to watch other people drive. It's so annoying when someone pulls out in front of you and cuts you off, things like that."
The words were barely out of my mouth, when suddenly, Hong slammed on his brakes as we slammed into a motorcycle! For once, I didn't have my seat-belt on, but I braced myself and kept my eyes glued on the dislodged biker who was sliding along the ground in front of my door.
As the car stopped, I got out and breathed a sigh of relief to see that the motorcyclist stood up. He had a strange look on his face. It was a mixture of pain, shock and Westerner fascination. I touched his arm and asked him if he was "ok". He understood that word and smiled.
When he went to pick up his motorcycle, it was jammed under the bumper of Hong's car. So Hong moved the car back. The motorcycle went right along with it! It was stuck good. So, we pulled it out, crunching and crumbling parts of the plastic like Corn Flakes that scattered over the road.
As we gathered at the side of the road, I realized this young man had been carrying two heavy gas cylinders on his motorcycle. That's why he didn't go flying off into space when we hit him. Instead, the bike's weight caused it to stick close to the ground and jam under the car as we made the connection. His injuries were a grazed elbow and a gouge in his ankle.
I pulled out a Bandaid and handed it to him. He stuck it on his elbow, poor fellow.
By now, I was late for the train and it seemed my ticket would be worthless. Still, when another taxi offered to take me to the station, I went, hoping for the best. Although we were ten minutes late, so was the train.
Less than one second after I passed through the wicked and stepped onto the platform, the train pulled into the station.
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