During the early 1980s, I was a young guy, smart and smug. I used to ride on my beloved sky-blue racing motorcycle, which was branded Wolf, roaming and exploring around the countryside. On one sunny spring morning, I rode on a 6-meter-wide country asphalt road. Along both sides of the road lay grass stripes which were about one meter wide. Adjacent to the grass flowed slowly and silently small creeks. And next to the creeks were green rice fields extending far away beyond my sight. On the road, some one hundred meters ahead, opposite my side and direction, an old farmer wearing a rain hat riding on an old bicycle was pedaling toward a village behind me. The spring sun was shining so warmly, the breeze felt so cozy, the rice fields were so spacious and the farmer looked so carefree. Being amused blissfully by such relaxing scenery, I turned the gas knob up to full speed. My Wolf darted out like a flying arrow. Instantaneously, I came close to the farmer.

Suddenly, the beautiful world turned into hell. And the carefree farmer, together with his old bicycle, turned into a huge disaster. He switched his direction and cut into my lane. I watched the bicycle wheel approaching, enlarging and enlarging. “Bang”! I lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes, I found myself sitting in the creek. The clean water flowed beside my lap, and blood showered down from my left eyebrow. I must have been catapulted out from the rider seat. I raised my head and looked around. The farmer was lying groaning on the roadside several meters ahead. My beloved Wolf lay dead nearly ten meters behind. My eyeglasses lay broken in the grass. People hurried from the village to us, and sent us to the hospital. There I had stitches. My parents drove anxiously all the way to me. The doctor said that I could have broken my neck and been blinded.

Even to the present, the anxiety and worries on my parents’ face come to my mind from time to time. I feel extremely guilty about agonizing them with things like this. Ever since I bumped into that farmer, whenever I drive a car or ride a motorcycle, I warn myself: You can never be too cautious.