What happens when it happens?
On my way to the Guyanas, I´m in Honduras. After crossing the frontier, and being ripped off something fierce, it was getting worse. A car crossed my path on the CA-1, no signal, no hesitation, no nothing. Going at 60 mph I couldn´t stop and hit it on its right side. Going down I saw my beloved Jesse box passing me as I was sliding on very unpleasant asphalt. Good thing I didn´t wear my nice driving jacket. It would have been ruined. As it was I received serious road rash, riding in shirt and jeans, and the bike got more battle scars. But now the fun part begins. Of course none of us had insurance. This question didn´t even come up. I suggested that it wouldn´t be a good idea to get the police involved. Bad idea. The lady driver was not pleased, but they let me ride off. Some 10 miles down the road I was stopped by the police and escorted back to the scene. The police asked me to come to their office in town, and took down the facts. We were all in a good mood, even I, bleeding like a stuck pig. It so happened that the lady lived in that village, and denied any guilt. She didn´t see me. Of course, she wasn´t looking. Then the police suggested a settlement. The lady´s husband, who owned the car, suggested US$300. Of course I could have refused, and hung around until the case came to traffic court, some 4 weeks down the line. So I paid. It beets me how a skinny old geezer like me on a puny bike can do so much damage. The whole length of her car was dented. The right door was bashed in, and the window broken. At home we would have looked at at least $2,000. I signed the accord and knew I got a bargain. The others, incl. the police, were pleased. Then the cop suggested that it is customary for each party reaching a settlement to make a donations of $10 each to the police. We shook hands all around, and I rode off, sore as hell, hole in the arm, the jeans and shirt, abrasions on the bike, and a broken off saddle bag.