John Loudon Macadam is walking down one of the paved roads he invented, when an anachronistically large and fast truck barrels down at him, obliterating him - from his original reality, at least.
Disorientation, and memories of pain but no actual pain, greet Macadam as he stands up.
The first thing he notices, perhaps out of an engineer's pride, is that he is not by a paved turnpike anymore. He tries to recall what happened, but it's mostly indistinct noise and light.
He looks around where he's standing a bit more. It really doesn't look interesting at all. He supposes he'll head down the (sigh) dirt road towards what appear to be buildings.
Pretty normal width for a light wooden cart? (The gauge is probably narrower than you'd have a horse draw.)
Presently he comes to a better vantage point on the buildings. Looks like mostly one snaking complex, stone walls patched with wood, a low slate roof with wide thatched eaves. One person is sitting on a bench under the eaves with a drop spindle in hand and a wooden staff leaning on the bench beside them. They stare at Mr Macadam for a while, drop the spindle, bang the staff against the wall twice, then call out a few words. It sounds like... a woman speaking no language he has ever heard.