I was cycling in rural Turkey – I couldn’t tell you where. My plan that day was to ride until I reached a village with somewhere I could stay. I needed people because, unlike other bike tourists, I didn’t have a tent. I thought not bringing one would mean I had more adventure – maybe I’d stay in barns, living rooms or school halls. That had worked in Thailand, Malaysia and South Korea. It didn’t work in Turkey.
I needed to get to the next town before sunset. I was cycling quickly downhill, probably too fast for a gravel road. I was scooting around a blind corner when a car came screaming around the bend. As soon as I saw it, it was in front of me.
