I was having a great ride, finally headed to the Guatemalan border after four months in Mexico. I rounded a lovely curve when I felt that familiar feeling.

I needed to fart.

I made the necessary adjustment but then instantly regretted it.

It was not just a fart.

I had eaten something dodgy the previous night and my system was coping in the only way it knew how.

I could carry on all day in the heat and wash myself in my hotel that night or do an emergency stop and clean myself as soon as possible with some water.

Given the heat and the number of hours that would elapse I decided an immediate stop was advisable. However, the windy road and descent into the valley meant I was unable to find anywhere flat for about a quarter of an hour.

I stopped in the first available place by a deserted track.

The bush nearby was so low I didn’t see the point in even trying to hide behind it so I stood behind my bike.

I got my loo roll from my top box where it is handily placed for such emergencies and dropped my outer, riding trousers to my ankles. I looked around to make sure I was completely alone and that there were no cars or buses coming.

I undid my belt and wet some loo paper from my water bottle. I squatted down a bit to make the operation easier and was just about to carry out the delicate manoeuvre when I heard a sound.

I looked up to see a flat bed truck about ten metres away which had stopped in front of the barbed wire gate. The driver stopped the engine and got out to open the gate.

What should I do next?

He didn’t seem to be in the least bit interested in my activities so I just carried on.

It was at this point that the ancient bus went slowly past, when I was in mid flow and trying hard to keep my balance.

The driver honked loudly and I could hear the laughter intermingled with the sound from the diesel engine.

It’s just another day.