When the country farmer saw a bandit fleeing a Hamilton pharmacy he was faced with the clear choice of getting out of the way or getting involved.

But those who know Ken Dacomb say there wouldn't have been much of debate before he jumped into action.

The crook could honestly consider himself unlucky. The average man in his 50s who stumbled into a robbery would be unlikely to give chase and, if he did, would be unlikely to keep up.

But there is nothing average about Ken Dacomb. The former junior rugby international, fighter pilot, marathon runner and triathlete wouldn't give up – even when the robber menaced him with a 20cm-long blade.

He chased him over fences and through streets while keeping police on the line until they could make the arrest. He was awarded the Australian Bravery Medal for his 2006 actions. As his mate Bruce Geddes says, "He has always been superman."

Years later Dacomb would learn there are greater challenges than a man with a knife. He would need to find reserves of courage just to survive when a road accident left him questioning the very value of his life.

First some background. This is a bloke whose  CV reads like a Boy's Own Annual. A third generation Rhodesian (Rhodesia later became Zimbabwe) who represented his country at schoolboy rugby and was conscripted into the army to fight in a guerilla-style civil war before moving to the airforce to fly Vampire jets.

He travelled the world for three years working on oil rigs in the North Sea and near the Arctic Circle. With no future at home he moved to South Africa as a commercial pilot and top standard rugby prop.

After marrying an Australian he met in London they moved to Victoria in 1979. Dacomb's in-laws owned a Hamilton farm and eventually they asked if he would take it over.

So at 29, and with no experience, he became a full-time farmer. What he didn't know he researched and if he couldn't find the answer he asked his experienced neighbours.

The young family battled through the 1983 drought and no matter what obstacles arose they kept the farm viable.

Long days on the land are exhausting but the former international sportsman would not compromise on fitness. There were triathalons, squash and many sub three hour marathons until his knees started to protest.

And so to the bike, but it was not in Dacomb's DNA to be satisfied with a social ride with mates and a latte at Cafe Lycra. He embraced endurance cycling - 24 hour events that took him to Australia's highest mountains.

No matter how tired he felt Dacomb rode or ran every day and at least once a week headed to the Grampians for an eight-hour ride. "It was exhausting but almost spiritual. You would go up there with all this rubbish in your head and you would come back de-stressed. I worked on the basis that every hour on the bike would give you another day of quality life."

On December 7, 2013, that quality of life was taken from him. He was just 10 kilometres from home on a gun barrel straight road just about to complete a two hour recovery ride when he was struck from behind by a Toyota Land Cruiser travelling at 100 km/h.

The driver was an 88-year-old man in the advanced stage of terminal cancer who was refusing to take his medication. He died four weeks later. "He should never have been on the road," Dacomb says matter of factly.

He was hit by the bull bar with such force it collapsed into the radiator. He was thrown headfirst into the windscreen then dragged 45 metres along the road.

Minutes were lost because the elderly driver did not have a mobile phone and couldn't operate Ken's. Finally another driver arrived followed by emergency responders who airlifted him to Melbourne.

Having nearly died at the scene the general view, he says, was "I wouldn't last until Christmas." And with good reason. He was left with the bones in his left leg severed, ankles shattered, pelvis in pieces, two collapsed lungs, massive abdominal injuries, brain trauma, infections and nine back fractures.

He was later told only his physical fitness gave him a remote chance of survival.

When I meet Ken in his hotel room (he was about to address a police road trauma conference downstairs) you see an athletic man who looks a decade younger than his 65 years.Then you notice the compression bandages on a seat nearby and crutch leaning against the bed.

A courteous host he makes tea and you can see that even such simple chores remain a battle. He sits on his bed supporting an ankle that will soon be operated on again.

In obvious pain, he makes no fuss. During an hour-long chat he moves every couple of minutes trying (and failing) to make himself more comfortable. He will be in severe pain every day of his life.

In hospital he had drug induced nightmares medical staff were trying to kill him because he believed he had witnessed them murdering other patients.

Even now - nearly two years later - he still has nightmares that are thankfully beginning to fade. He has had 25 operations (with more planned), two metres of surgical scars, one leg shorter than the other, tinnitus that leaves him deaf in one ear and a ringing in his head that won't abate.

"Since the collision I have spent 335 days flat on my back in various hospital beds."

The man who loved the farm, his animals and his outdoor lifestyle now has a diary dominated by rehabilitation and medical appointments.

Dacomb says when he realised his life would never be the same he became angry, depressed, isolated and for a period - suicidal. "My life's passions were taken from me to be replaced with pain."

Alone at his farm with only pain as his constant companion he could see no reason to get out of bed. He would doze into the afternoon retreating to his "Dreamworld where I could do everything again -  run, ride my bike, climb mountains, look after my animals and the farm.

"For a time I lost my will to live. I had thoughts of suicide and as a farmer I had the means to achieve it."

After phone calls from his two sons, Jonathan and Nick, and a close friend he, "started to think I was being selfish to leave all these people with grief, guilt and a sense of loss."

He started to concentrate on what he could do and not what he had lost. He set himself physical challenges such as "walking" his two dogs around the farm while still confined to a wheelchair.

It was tough but he found as he achieved his challenges, some of his strength and much of his self esteem returned.

"I replaced the anger with positive thoughts. We live in the most beautiful country in the world where life is valued. I came from Southern Africa where life is cheap.

"I am convinced that 95 percent of my healing has come through my mental state of mind."

Now between medical appointments Dacomb visits people with life-altering injuries to give them a message of hope. "Life is tomorrow and we should embrace it."

At a time when we fret about crime, terrorism and illegal drugs we sometimes concentrate on the negatives and ignore our victories - such as what has happened with Victoria's road toll, which is nothing short of a modern miracle.

In 1970 the toll was 1061. Last year it was 243 with four times the number of vehicles on the road. Since 1989 the road toll has halved. On pure statistics at least 40,000 road users would now be dead if we hadn't changed through a combination of enforcement, education and safety initiatives. The September 11, 2001, US terrorist attacks that helped change the way we view the world cost just under 3000 lives.

So the next time you moan when pulled over by the cops just remember that you, or someone you know would probably be dead if we hadn't collectively said enough.

Assistant Commissioner (Road Policing) Doug Fryer, says the hidden toll includes those who, like Ken Dacomb, suffer life-altering injuries. "There are 18,000 collision injuries a year with 5100 serious injuries. In 1100 cases, the injuries are life altering."

They rarely make headlines but these are the cases that impact on families, friends and whole communities. If there are more than 1000 victims a  year there must be tens of thousands who become part time and full time carers for those who will never truly recover.

The dead (one every one and a half days) get a funeral. The injured are sometimes left to suffer behind closed doors.

And so what are Dacomb's plans for the future? He knows the farm where he has invested more than 35 years is now beyond him but he has a plan. To head north to the sea, where the warmth will help the arthritis he can expect in the future.

His ambitions are not confined to the occasional paddle in the shallows as he has always had that deep end attitude. He wants to master the surf ski so he can spend hours with nature - just as he did in the mountains.