The Day I Felt Powerless

Needless to say, I've had my fair share of frustrating situations and unplanned challenges. But the day I felt powerless was by far one of the most unforgettable experiences on that list.

It was the day I had a brisk accident while riding my motorbike, descending from a bridge.

The incident happened so fast that if someone had sneezed a second before, they would’ve missed the trailer entirely. But to me—the eye of the beholder—the incident didn’t feel fast at all. I can actually recall it in slow motion.

It happened when a van in front of me, for whatever reason best known to the driver (which I will never be able to tell), suddenly decided to slow down rapidly and stop right in the middle of the expressway. And just as quickly, after the incident, the van zoomed off.

I wasn’t exactly caught off guard—because, like I said, I saw it happening—but by then, I was already too far gone, in the middle of rolling down the bridge myself. I couldn’t do much else but allow the deed to take its course and hope I could control the fall as best as possible.

Because, think of it: the other option I had was to try and swerve left—something I was closer to at the time. But in that split second, I didn’t think it was the best move. I lacked enough time to check my side mirror to make sure I wasn’t risking getting flung by an oncoming vehicle. The other option was to slam on my brakes completely and risk becoming a wedge to the car behind me.

So, as you might have imagined, I did neither of the above. Instead, I decided to allow the movement to continue. I depressed the brakes with controlled force, held the hand brakes as steadily as I could at the time, and just before I was about to hit the van, I slightly turned the handlebar. My intention was not to fly off the bike—risking a dislocation—but instead to fall to the ground while still somewhat holding onto the bike.

Now, after the impact had settled, the next thing I hoped for was that I had wasted enough time during the fall for the vehicle behind me to fully realize what was going on, so they could apply their brakes and possibly avert smashing into me.

Luckily, the process went just okay. After the fall, the vehicle behind managed to control its movement and eventually changed course.

But here was the real problem.

After the fall, I was lucky enough to still be conscious and fully aware of what had just happened. But I also quickly realized that the motorbike—a big one at that—was now on top of me.

Immediately, I became aware of this, I made frantic efforts to free myself and get off the expressway. You have to remember: other vehicles were still moving. And even though the ones closest to me at the time of the incident were aware and moving cautiously, what about those behind—those coming at full speed, impatient and unaware of what had just happened? Would I be lucky enough that they’d be able to stop in time and spare me?

That was a question I had no interest in waiting around to answer. So, I struggled and struggled.

A motorbike I usually maneuver easily—bending it to my will—now had dominion over me. It had refused to yield.

After a couple more tries, I realized I was truly trapped and couldn’t get it off me on my own. I was pissed. I felt furious. And most of all—I felt powerless.

But even in that state, I didn’t give up. Though it was clearly beyond my physical capacity at the time, I kept wriggling, shaking the handlebar, raising my hand—anything to let someone nearby, whether on foot or in a car, know that I was still conscious and making an effort. That way, they could possibly come to my aid.

Because in some cases like this, when the victim is unconscious, people deliberately avoid getting close. Why? Because if the person doesn’t survive and you’re seen near them when the police arrive, you instantly become a witness—and if you're not lucky, you might go through a lot of stress before you're cleared and let go.

Well, thankfully, my little trick worked. Finally, some guys nearby noticed me and came to my rescue. They lifted the heavy metal weight (that’s literally what it had become) off me, and I regained my freedom and limped off the expressway.

It’s a day I’ll never forget in a hurry. And like I’ve said, I’ve had other close calls before. But in most cases, I still had my willpower and the capacity to move quickly. This one was different. It pinned me down and left me helpless… left me to fury.

Now, in retrospect, I sometimes wonder—what if…?

Thank you for stopping by.

If you found any value in this, consider reading >>> Your Level of Tolerance is Connected to Your Experiences