Topping 60 and things get a little dicey as I traverse the mountain road to Bokor national park. It’s not the speed however that upsets my balance, more so my limited attention span. In a split second, I’m riding shotgun, watching the grey tarmac and whites lines zipping closer by, welcoming me to the fold.
Hurtling towards the tarmac my Nikon starts to fire in rapid succession, capturing the scene without me even noticing. The bike clatters to the ground, screeching across the hard floor leaving a trail of sparks in the dim light.
The trusty D700 hit the road first, quickly followed by my elbow, the D4, and finally my left hip. I momentarily become an amalgamation of tarmac, Nikon and exposed flesh as I tumble off the road onto soft, wet grass, coming to a final skidding halt somewhere in the jungle undergrowth. Nothing moves, my world consumed by the sound of heavy breathing and the ticking-over engine of Mayday, now 15 feet away laying on its side like a sleeping horse. Wiggle toes, check. Fingers, check.
The D700 is laying in two pieces in the middle of the road, the 28-70mm f2.8 once attached now appears to have multiplied into three and the D4 is looking at me like it wants to die, or possibly has and then revived itself just to show it’s disgust at my driving. With a big sigh I heave my shaken body back to the bike and begin to pick up the expensive black debris scattered all over the small mountain pass, and as if on queue it starts to rain a heavy wet season monsoon. Assembling matching parts with Gaffa tape and cable ties, I pack my gear into the only waterproof bag I have and get back to the day at hand; shooting Bokor National Park.