On my first solo drive to Ray and Anna’s I fell out of my wheelchair at a rest stop on the Loch Broom road about five miles east of Ullapool. It’s a quiet place where tranquillity can be found quite easily. The immense stretch of water that is Loch Broom, maybe 100 metres below the lay-by, stretches out to the sea. Gorse bushes, hence the loch’s name, pepper the hillside above the road. I pulled the van over for a rest from driving, to empty my urine drainage bag (because a paralysed man must) and to sit, quietly and at peace with myself, looking out over the magnificence of a truly awesome place. After some period, which might have been five minutes or five days, I turned to position my chair on the hoist platform. A front wheel stuck in a small muddy puddle. I pushed the rear wheels, my shoulders set back for extra leverage. Of course all I did was tip backwards out of my chair. I lay on the gravel beneath the line of vision of a driver of a saloon car passing along the road: several did. After about 15 minutes, maybe 20, a Land Rover stopped (presumably to do a double take on what the driver was sure she had seen but was no less sure couldn’t be true). She saw what she saw. I asked her to find another, which she did by flagging down a second car. My good Samaritans picked me up without too much fuss. Back in the wheelchair I checked there was no damage, they waited until I was safely in my driver’s seat then we said our goodbyes. I imagine they had a good ‘you’ll never believe what happened today’ story to tell later. When I reached Anna and Ray’s house, they and Susi were less than overwhelmed by my absentmindedness on the road.I'm not quite sure why this recollection came to me when it did. But it did so I wrote it down then sent it to a friend, twelve years after the event. (I know it's 12 because the van is 13 years old.)
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