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wet tarmac before escaping the beachside strip.
Complacency caught me by surprise. I knew the sharp rightangle bend was coming, but my speed betrayed caution. At seventy or eighty kilometres per hour, the rear brake locked, the bike skidded, jack-knifed, and threw me across the road toward a signpost. Rocks and rough grass claimed the landing. My body bore only minor scratches, my left leg grazed where protection was thin, but the KTM suffered more: cracked headlight housing, smashed hand-guard, snapped clutch tip, broken rear grab-rail, and a wrenched rear foot-peg frame. Adrenaline quickly replaced fear; I waved to passing riders, assured them I was fine, and continued on. There was no time to dwell.
Soon after, we hit the beach— miles of churned sand, sculpted into ruts by a hundred bikes and buggies. The firmest ground was closest to the water, but I avoided it to dodge the salt spray and the risk of a swim on a 200-kilogram bike. The sand further back was fluffy, treacherous, and cross-crossed with deep channels. My front wheel found instability; I went down. A French rider stopped, helped me up, and we shared a quick nod before continuing. The beach ride ended between dunes on one
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