When I left home on the southside of Brisbane today, the weather was fine, if not slightly warm for a winters day. Traffic was slightly busier than usual though which made the trek from my house to the foot of Mt Nebo just that bit more tiresome. This was further stressed by a near miss with an oblivious lady and her Mazda 3....still. Arrived at the base around midday only to be greeted by a procession of cars heading up. The line was about 6 or 7 long, far too many to overtake on the short straights. Still, I persevered on with the hope that I could get a clear run once I got to Mt Glorious, another 18km away. The road was dry and the rain the night before had washed all the debris away meaning I could at least relax and take in the views. What would normally be a 15 minute ride turned into 30 minutes as the cars took every corner like an accordian, stretching and compressing but not once going above 50km/h......30 under the speed limit, sigh. Unfortunately, only two turned off at Jolly's lookout leaving me with 4 cars ahead all the way until the Samford turn off, another 10km's or so. Was so frustrated at this point that I was about the just risk it and overtake them at any chance I could get. Another 5km's down the road, past all the cafes, the remaining two cars pulled over and just stopped. Was not for another 30 seconds until I realised why. I crested a large rise past a lookout and was instantly engulfed in thick fog. It was breathtaking at first, not something I had ever experienced on a bike. The roads were wet and slippery and visibility was down to about 20m ahead of you at some points though. But it wasn't raining, and I was only slightly cold so I pressed on. At this point, I was all alone. No cars, no animals making noise, just the quiet hum of the exhaust as I coasted along. Silent and eerie. On a motorbike, it felt like the equivalent of walking through a graveyard late at night, and given the conditions it probably was one for motorbikes.......regretting coming out by myself now. The serene atmosphere kept me going though and I continued all the way to the Wivenhoe outlook without incident. Here, the fog was at its thickest. I was getting colder now and slightly hungry so I felt I should turn back. But I couldn't just pass up the opportunity to take some pictures of this strange little world atop a mountain. Unfortunately, while pulling over one time, the front wheel caught a hold of a pile of wet leaves and decided that down was the way to go. My first lowside, lucky it was only at about 15km/h. The bike came crashing down on my right foot, pinning it against the road and the frame. Luckily I'd worn my SIDI riding boots and I was uninjured. The bike came out with just a small scratch on the exhaust and a smashed indicator lens. The entire bike must have been weighing down upon that single boot, holding it just high enough to avoid serious damage. My toe slider seems to have taken the brunt of the force though. I picked myself up and dusted the mud off my kevlars. I glanced over the bike towards roads edge and then I realised just how lucky I had been. The bike had stopped about 30cm from a steep drop off that was littered with trees. If i'd been going a little faster I probably wouldn't have been found for a very long time. I got the bike back on its wheels and prayed that the bike still ran fine. It coughed twice, then started, then died. At this point my heart sank in my chest and I feared for the worst. I tried once more. It fired in to life and I let it sit on idle for a second, then it started to drop again. I quickly jumped on the throttle, keeping it going. After a few moments she seemed to have calmed down and was running properly again. At this point I started breathing again. The sigh of relief was large enough to fog the entire visor up. A quick damage check and I was off again. The next few corners were gingerly and cautious, terrified of the ever looming tarmac nearby and the possibility of coming off again. After a minute or two I'd calmed down enough to resume my Sunday afternoon ride.