"Well...it won't start."

That much I knew because the Landcruiser sat there, not starting as I tried turning the ignition for the twentieth or perhaps thirty thousandth time in the last quarter of an hour. It's not the first time I've been out by myself on these bush tracks going off road for the sake of it.

One final attempt and I realised I've run out of swear words to yell while turning the key. That probably shocked me more than anything else. I knew straight away I'd be in trouble and isolated. But not flustered, I really thought I had more curse words in my magazine. On reflection I probably ran out verbally rapid firing my thoughts towards the thing when it started cutting out.

I had been bitten by the machine only half an hour ago. I thought lowering the tyre pressure would be foresight, great thinking and situational awareness in the face of adversary as I turned off the road onto the track. As it turns out placing placing my steel tool kit from which I retrieved by tyre valve regulator above my head on the hood of the front left tyre was a poor decision.

Though in my defense the danger was not immediately apparent until I started letting the air out, noticed the car leaning towards the corner I was crouched at and heard the sound of my Christmas present tool box moving swiftly over the hood to join hands with gravity and fall below to the squating idiot next to the tyre.

Nothing profound came upon my realisation that I was in for a headache. Instead after stopping the bleeding out of a small gash and large lump on my head I decided to not press on would be accepting defeat.

"The pain will subside, as will the swelling but more importantly - no one saw it" I thought to myself as I threw the tool box into the back seat and launched myself behind the steering wheel.

"Clutch in, ignition on....fuck".