Rajasthan – A Roadside Meditation

I know I have ridden far from the highway when at the tea stops, the cups shrink to under two inches and the horizon seems endless. So when I pull up beside a bright blue shop under a Khejri tree, the official state tree of Rajasthan, I order not one, but two cups of chai.

The bench I sit on lets me lean against the brick wall of a government school to watch life go by on the hard packed dirt road. Kids in uniform and masks seem in no hurry even though it’s well past their morning assembly. Post lockdown there must be marks for just showing up.

A diesel goods train rumbles by the railway crossing barely fifty meters from where I am sitting. As the yellow and black stripped barricade goes up, a bullock cart leisurely rolls across with a man and woman sitting cross legged beside each other. She uses the loose end of her pink sari to cover her face, known as “ghoonghat”, a common practice among married women in these parts.

I get back up to order more chai and smell the incense burning below the framed picture of a local deity. The spice-induced tea concoction brewing in the wood fire makes it a heady smokey mix. The shopkeeper acknowledges my order by nodding his head and showing his index finger, implying that it will be ready in a minute.

Standing beside me is the sole customer. A man in local attire of cotton dhoti-kurta and a bright turban. He is lighting his rolled-up cigarette known as ‘bidi’ and curiously looking at my bike. He seems unsure about me and to be fair I do look odd in my bulky dust covered riding gear.

Taking my sunglasses off, I smile and greet him with a “Namaste”. A little at ease, he shoots the standard questions I get asked in most of rural India. Where are you from? How much is your bike? What average kms to a liter does the bike give?

 

One isn’t expected to literally answer such questions. I mention where my parents are from, not where I grew up or where I am currently living. And I don’t mention the on-road price of a Royal Enfield motorcycle, I say it is worth three camels.

Our chai arrives and we talk a bit more about local and national news, the lockdown and its impact. The pandemic gives us a common ground to acknowledge the fragility of life, even empathize with one another, and imagine what the new season could bring.

As I ready myself to resume my ride, this ritual makes passersby stop and stare at me pulling down the helmet, putting on the winter gloves and then awkwardly getting on the bike. As I ride off, I hear the man with whom I was conversing telling the bystanders “chalo, chalo, picture khatam ho gaya!” (move along people, show’s over!)

 

Our rides to the beautiful state of Rajasthan re-start on 24 October 2021. To check out the ride, click here.

You’ve made the decision to cut the cord for a year and are ready to circumnavigate the globe at ground level. You’re handed the keys to two vehicles: A kitted out Unimog RV offering all of the comforts of home and a well broken-in, purpose-hardened BMW GS. What do you do?

The debate amongst overland adventurers as to the vehicle best suited to the task of crunching kilometres across every conceivable terrain has raged for years. The chosen tool for the task has cut across the vehicular spectrum ranging from the sublime to the absurd. A Tuk-Tuk, a bicycle, a Suzuki Hayabusa, a London Taxi, a Vespa scooter and a cracked out minvan, to name but a few, have survived to tell the tale.

No judgment can be passed on any of them because each has carved out its own little niche of utility and character. But I think the essence of the debate really comes down to a simple question: two wheels or four? Well, let me count the ways of how the debate leads to a simple result. The answer is two.

 

1. It’s (relatively) portable – I was on my 3^rd straight day at Istanbul airport being led through the catacombs of the dark, dank cargo building by my paid fixer as we worked desperately to get my Triumph Tiger I’d ridden from Los Angeles onto a plane to Kuala Lumpur. When the final bribe had been paid and the last document stamped, all that remained was to get it into the ramp-less building. The diabolical solution was a long, 2” x 10” plank spanning from street level up 1.5 meters to the loading dock. Naturally, riding the 450lb bike up a narrow, flimsy stick of wood was quite terrifying but the angry cargo workers told me to do it or the bike stays in Istanbul. Trousers soiled, the bike was up the ramp and loaded into a container for the Turkish Airlines flight. Try that with a car.
   

   Uncrating the GS at Kathmandu Airport

2. It’s cheap (or can be) – Sure, you can spend USD30k on a kitted out BMW R1250 Adventure and you can spend $500 on an old VW microbus. But odds are the bike you choose will be cheaper to buy, maintain, import, export and fill with fuel. A better return on your adventure investment 9 times out of 10.
3. It’s quite easy to fix – Again here, depending on the machine you select, the difficulty of repair can be comparable. But even with a bike and a car from a similar technological era, the bike wins here simply because there are fewer things to break. Fewer wheel bearings, simpler drive train, fewer suspension components, simpler cooling & lubrication system and two fewer tires to puncture.
   

   Servicing in Shiraz, Iran

4. It provides the exhilaration of risk – There’s no way to mask the reality that motorcyclists are cut from a different cloth. One of the reasons we gravitate toward bikes is the lack of protection and exposure to the elements. The risk of dying is part of what makes us feel alive.
   

   Riding my Bullet in the Thar Desert

5. It connects you with your environment – One of my saddest experiences riding a motorcycle in India was while cruising through the stunning scenery in the Thar Desert on a searingly heat hot day. Surrounded by the beautiful chaos of a swarm of camels and goats at a railway crossing, I peered up into the windows of the bus jostling next to me and saw the faces of plump tourists in their air-conditioned capsule. Sure, they were comfortable, but that’s not the point. I was on my bike as part of the scene. In their tour bus surrounded by a sound and heat-proof buffer of steel and glass, they were merely spectators. The moral here: If you want to experience our world, bust out of your cocoon.
6. It’s agile – Riding my GS one fine day on a dirt track along the Mekong River in Cambodia, I encountered an obstacle. A tributary feeding into the river necessitated negotiating a steep decline, crossing the stream and then scrambling up an incline of similar gradient. The only way out of that ravine was manpower: a half dozen villagers pushing me up the slippery slope spitting off mud from the rear tire like an angry gatling gun. No number of villagers could have managed to push a 2,000kg SUV out of that ditch. Advantage bike.
7. It feels so good – Yes, the grin factor. Do you remember the first time you rode a motorcycle? The first time you did a long road-trip? Your first wheelie? The first time you launched a dirt bike through the air or got your knee down on a racetrack? We ride because it feels good, because it makes us feel free. And no amount top-down driving in a Ford Mustang will ever touch that. As a wise woman once said, four wheels move the body, two wheels move the soul.
8. It connects you with people – In the developing world, ‘two-wheelers’ vastly outnumber cars on the road when you’re outside of cities. Local people you meet while riding down country lanes or when you take breaks in villages will more than likely be motorbike riders and as a result, be naturally curious about the foreigners exploring their part of the world. This is where the magic happens. It’s where the bike creates the connection between you and the people you meet as you explore. And isn’t this why we came in the first place?
   

   Making friends in Rajasthan

Colour me biased; I don’t care. After riding motorcycles through 40 countries and being blockaded by Maoist insurgents at the Nepali border, tracked by the religious police in Iran, escorted by the Pakistani military, lashed by a hurricane in Florida and enveloped in a blizzard in the mountains of eastern Turkey, I’ll surrender my right to comfort, protection and anonymity any day. Give me the bike.

Two Wheeled Expeditions offers adventures through Nepal, India and Sri Lanka.

We asked Igor Spasojevic, a passionate adventure rider based in Canada why he wants to keep riding with TWE. 

What motivated you to do a ride in Rajasthan and Nepal? 

To be honest India wasn’t really on my radar. I wasn’t planning to visit it. My list of destinations to see was ever growing, but India wasn’t on it. Then, one sunny Tuesday in May, I think, I received an invitation to join the expedition to Rajasthan. It was a fantastic opportunity to ride motos with friends in an exotic land and I couldn’t let it pass. Following the joy and euphoria of this experience, when the opportunity came up to do it again in a less manic way and in a country that I had actually intended and desired to visit, which was Nepal, it was a no-brainer. 

 

Why did you choose TWE? 

They’re a bunch of ne’er-do-wells whom I have grown to appreciate as friends. I like the CEO with a “fuck everything” attitude, pink mohawk and a KTM. The TWE guide is one of the best humans in the world, great artist of life and an excellent guide. He works better without a GPS and takes better photos with his antique iPhone than with a DSLR. 

 

What do you ride at home?

KTM 790 Adventure R with some minor mods

Your next ride with TWE? 

Oh god!! Ha ha ha…once the borders re-open and once I can take some more vacation time, I’d love to visit Bhutan with TWE! or Ladakh! or Sri Lanka.. anywhere really. Marrakech? 

‘Chai’ or tea stops are an integral part of any motorcycle ride across India. However remote the route there’s usually someone who has put their bet on opening a shack for the wandering adventurers out there.

In the Himalayan circuit, often the epic ride up to Khardungla Pass in Ladakh can be overwhelming for first timers. You’re high on adrenaline and thin on air as you go from 3500 to 5359 meters. By the time you’ve clicked that mandatory photo in front of the signboard the weather can go from sunny to a snowstorm.

As one descends to North Pullu check post, all you want is that hot cup of chai. And the Ladakhi lady I call “Didi” or elder sister is usually ready to hand me that sweet concoction after scolding me with, “where were you all this time?” I am not sure if this is her business tactic but it ensures I drink at least two cups.

Then there is Mr Dharmalingam in South India who has set up his stall on the border of Kerala and Tamil Nadu. In his heyday he was a mechanic who raced motorcycles. I am not sure exactly what happened that caused him to leave the city and live in the high ranges. One thing he does say is that running his teashop has enabled him to live a more fulfilled life.

All teashops are not alike. They are less a franchise and more a way of life, especially in rural parts of India. This is the social hub where you gossip, share & gather news, sell local produce and make ends meet with dignity. It doesn’t matter whether you are in snowy Ladakh or scorching Rajasthan – chai is always in demand.

As I found out, in spite of the sweltering humidity in northeast India’s state of Assam, I couldn’t help myself from trying out a delicious cup of you-know-what made over wood fire by another “Didi”. Thankfully she didn’t scold me even once. She couldn’t: her mouth was full of paan, a betel leaf and areca nut combo that’s popular in these parts, besides…chai, of course!

I could go on but let me end with another hot spot I like to frequent on my motorcycle trips. The western most corner of India is scarcely populated but wherever you find a small settlement, you’re sure to find a teashop. The marked difference between chai served here and rest of India is the size of the cup. They’re more like a bottle cap, which means you have to drink at least 6 cups.

Ok, that’s it folks. If you have absolutely no idea of what I’ve been on about, you can check out Roro’s how to make masala chai video. Or better still, ride across India and taste its goodness served in a cup anywhere and everywhere. And if know of a must-visit chai shop anywhere in India then please comment below and lets keep that chai love overflowing!

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Rajasthan, arguably the most exotic of India’s 29 states has been a fixture on our expedition calendar from day one and it never, ever gets boring. Goats grazing on the roof of a bus, a cow roaming down the middle of a busy highway and a face full of colored powder during Holi keeps things interesting. It may also be that leaving Delhi during the rush hour heave and arriving in the open Thar Desert is the closest thing to teleportation available. One moment you are engulfed in the throng of microcars and Tata trucks and the next you’re gliding past camel carts guided by saffron-turbaned farmers. But all bets were off in the age of Corona Virus, as every human being on the planet is now painfully aware.

The decision to proceed with the tour group of eight was made at a time when, with the exception of China, the world still seemed relatively virus free. India’s population of 1.3 billion had only a handful of confirmed cases and they were confined to the southern state of Kerala. The 22 infections being treated there where cause enough to cancel our Southern India ride, but the rest of the vast country was still untouched and so all systems were go. It only took two weeks for the world to change completely.

Barreling down a dusty highway on a motorbike with seven of your new best friends while camels and goats stream by can provide the ultimate distraction from a world that seems to be melting down by the hour. As a group we made a pact to ignore news apps on our phones as much as possible. But since the new best friends were also clients, Josh and I had an obligation to remain on top of the situation and alter our plans as the situation necessitated. More challenging than keeping track of the deteriorating situation, however, seemed to be maintaining a buoyed mood in the group. This is a bucket list ride and our job is to deliver that experience. Despite our efforts, the sense of gradual emotional degradation was palpable, and we just had to give people the space they needed.

It only took a face full of paint to kick the mood back into positive territory. Lunch and chai breaks during each day’s ride are a highpoint of every ride. We blow off some steam, exchange stories about all of the bizarre things we’ve witnessed, and the group dynamic strengthens. After the sweet chai was done and we were ready to blow the alarm to gear up, a posse of 20 somethings rolled up in full-on Holi face paint glory and it didn’t take more than a minute for our untainted group to become a target. After 15 minutes of colored-powder warfare and endless belly laughs, the stress levels were reset to zero and we were on our bikes again.

Jaipur, Jodhpur and Jaisalmer were their gorgeous, exotic selves and the group could not be happier: Stunning surroundings, delectable cuisine, beautiful hotels, awesome biker friends from around the world..adventure motorcycling bliss. It wasn’t until we hit Bikaner in the far west of Rajasthan that things began to unravel. What started as a complaint to the bureaucratic front desk manager about the construction underway on our floor turned into an issue about a notice they had just received from the government of Rajasthan. The directive was that all citizens from a long list of countries were to leave the borders of Rajasthan by midnight, 6 hours hence, or be subjected to a mandatory 14-day quarantine in the hotel. One of the countries on the list, the UK, was the home of one of our guests. We broke the news to him and the rest of our crew calmly and with purpose: we had already started the process of booking him a taxi for the 9-hour ride to Delhi airport fearing that other states may soon follow suit. The frenzy that ensued to get him packed, loaded and on his way was surreal for all of us: after 10 days together, with one stroke of the government’s hand only 7 of us remained.

We were two days’ ride from Delhi and, with the sense that the escape window was rapidly closing, we decided as a group to cut the remainder of the tour short and head to Mandawa the next morning. It was the right choice: the mood deteriorated as all the guests struggled with reservation agents to reschedule their departures. The Indian Government had ordered that all flights into and out of India would be suspended in a week’s time and flights were being cancelled in droves.

Our last night on the road was arguably the best. Our favourite hotel in India was waiting for us in Mandawa, the bar was fully stocked, and the pool was ours alone. We had no idea how horrible the state of the world would be in only three weeks’ time, but our party vibe definitely had an ‘end of the world’ celebratory tone and rode a wave of music and Kingfisher Beer into the wee hours.

The morning’s anticipated translucent haze mired the departure preparations only a bit. The team had internalized the daily ritual and knew we had a tough, long, chaotic ride back to Delhi. We were only 10 minutes into the ride when we hit the first roadblock.  With Josh at the lead and me riding tail, he gave me the news via our intercom: the Rajasthan government was sealing the border with neighbouring Haryana and all traffic was being turned back. We kept calm and kept probing the periphery of the state, but we are denied exit repeatedly. We toyed with going back and waiting things out at our beautiful hotel – but we sensed this was not going to be a short-term event and pushed on. Taunts of ‘Corona’ accompanied our ride through densely packed town arteries, and I sensed an uncomfortable tension. India has a reputation for spreading malicious rumours like brushfire via WhatsApp and those frenzies have been known to turn violent.  Ultimately Josh turned to his Malayali charm to tap local intel on the best ‘agricultural’ routes across the border. The circuitous track took us through the back alleys of villages, over wheat field cow paths and finally to a beautiful, treelined country lane that led us six hours later to the national highway and back to Delhi.

When everyone managed to depart India by the 19 March lockdown, the government stated the freeze would last 7 days. Of course, we know now that was excessively optimistic and tourists who decided, voluntarily or not, to remain likely find themselves sheltering in place in India to this day.

We are hopeful that measures taken to stem the contagion will bear fruit in India. India is our home and the epicentre of the most exciting adventure touring on Earth. We count the days until we are back in the saddle, doing what we love.

We arrived in Bikaner shortly after noon and I had a mission: to find a replacement for a nut that had fallen off of the bolt that holds the clutch lever in place. We have had a few parts go missing over the last two months, some through the constant abuse, others falling victim to sticky fingers. But nuts, not unlike people, all have a purpose of varying importance. Some can vanish yet their departure remains fully unnoticed, while the absence of others can cause whole systems to collapse. This particular nut was on the more indispensable end of the spectrum.

We headed around the perimeter of the 16th century Junagarh Fort wall to a restaurant for lunch and on the way back, I stopped in at a small shop with a pile of bicycle parts out front and enquired about their nut stocks. A kid in his late teens presented a box containing all shapes and sizes of nuts, bolts, washers and other fastening devices but, not knowing exactly what size nut I had left somewhere on the 200 miles of tarmac behind us, I said I would come straight back with the bike so we could size it properly.

Five minutes later, I was parked in front of the young man’s shop, one of dozens of six foot wide places of business on this congested street, and beckoned him to come with his collection of hardware so we could find the perfect fit. Then, similar to the effect of throwing chum into a sea of shark-infested waters, the crowd began to gravitate toward my big BMW R1200GS. The kid did his best but could not seem to find the right one and we found we needed to remove the hand guard in order to properly access the mateless bolt. To his aid came an older man, perhaps his father, who seemed to take control of the situation and was joined by two lower ranking assistants. I tried my best to be a part of the process but as the nucleus of activity became denser, I found myself gradually relegated to spectator status.

What I didn’t perceive was that, while I was observing the four manpower effort to replace my lost nut, the crowd around us had swelled to such mass that three of the four lanes which form the ring road around the fort wall were blocked. From all sides, arms and hands reached through the spectators lucky enough to have a front row seat to touch the machine. Others, not knowing from behind that I was the owner of this deity from Bavaria, shoved me to the side to get closer to the gleaming metal. I was machine gunned with questions in Rajasthani and felt like a disgraced congressman facing a panel of barking senators investigating moral impropriety. Then came the queries in English, the same ones I had fielded one hundred times before: how much does it cost, how much fuel does it use, how many gears does it have, does it run on gas or diesel. That last one always confuses me.

As the four men on center stage continued to fiddle with the nut, the driver of a camel cart parked on the periphery of the bulging, odorous crowd of fifty men, his perch offering him an ideal vantage point to observe the alien activities below. With both his wide load of grain on the rickety wooden cart and his tan, furry beast towering over the men and machine spilling over to the fourth and final lane, the artery was clogged. The ring road around this city of 50,000 was now effectively closed all thanks to my bike and that little two cent nut.

 

Two Wheeled Expeditions offers tours through Rajasthan from October through March every year.

Did you ever watch a MotoGP or World Superbikes race and notice how racers slide the rear tire out as they enter a turn so they can target the front wheel toward the exit and get on the gas earlier? Well, there is a 99.9% chance that you will never do that. But if you have a few hours under your belt on a dirt bike, there is a 99.9% chance that you will. That is because while riding a street bike is about all traction, pretty much all the time, dirt biking isn’t.

But every once in a while as you’re just settling in for a nice ride on your <<insert your bike here>>, almost always unintentionally, the tires WILL lose some traction, or the brakes WILL lock up, or the bike WILL go all squirrely over the metal grates of a bridge. The first time this happens, you will likely have one of those adrenalin shot moments as your biochemistry’s self-preservation function kicks in. There is a way to mitigate that millisecond or two of fear: get on a dirt bike and condition your mind and body for what a lack of control feels like.

If you are reading this, chances are you’re already a rider – maybe even a very experienced one. But whether a nube on a Rebel or a crusty on a Road King, spending some time on the dirt will almost certainly raise the level of your street game. Here are some reasons why.

1. Learning to Crash– It will come as no surprise that crashing on a street bike almost inevitably hurts. Even if your skin and bones are in tact, a small spill adds up to a big bill. One simple departure from pavement to gravel on some mountain twisties converted my pristine Ducati into a ragged trackbike rebuild in the blink of an eye. A dirt bike on the other hand is designed to crash and being clad in the armor of a gladiator from head to toe tends to make you a bit more resilient as well. The point is that no one WANTS to crash. But in any risky activity, it helps to be prepared for the worst and the best way to accomplish this is to experience it. After you’ve fallen off a few times and brushed yourself off, you’ll be mumbling ‘I got this’ inside your helmet in no time.
2. Learning to Feel– Riding a motorcycle is not a linear experience between inputs and outputs – there are a number of unpredictable variables in play all the time that will catch you off guard. As Mike Tyson once said, ‘everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.’ When you think about the myriad inputs involved in riding – clutching, braking, traction, engine revs, gear selection, throttle, lean angle, etc – it’s amazing we can keep the thing upright at all. Riding in the dirt allows you the ability to exaggerate these actions and their reactions so you can begin to ‘feel’ that relationship. This harmony between human and machine translates directly to your street riding relationship until, with enough hours, you and your bike become one.
3. Learning to Read– Riding a twisty mountain road is a beautiful thing and unless you’re in the business of getting your knee down, chances are each successive corner will be quite similar to the last: there likely won’t be a mug bog, a gully, some low branches, a jump or a stream in your path so you can usually relax a bit. When you begin to gain confidence on a dirt bike and start to pick up your pace, you’ll begin to notice that relaxation is not part of the deal. Information is coming at you hot and heavy and only the brakes will stem the flow. This skill of reading the terrain, managing inputs to the bike and handling its reaction to them is an enormously valuable asset on the street.
4. Learning your Limits– GP racers must be at 99.9% of their own and their bikes limits all the time if they want to win. I would suggest that most people operate at under 75% of their street bikes’ full performance capabilities and that’s a good thing since modern sport bikes possess much more power than race bikes of 20 years ago. We like to know we are riding a street-legal race bike even though we have zero intention of getting our knee down on the Nürburgring. When you ride a dirtbike on some open terrain, you are free to get closer to 90% + of your bike’s potential. With practice and the confidence that comes with it, sliding on maximum braking, climbing hills at full throttle or using every inch of fork travel as you launch your bike over the next jump will become second nature. Once you have experienced 95% on a dirt bike, hitting 80% on your street bike won’t seem quite as unnerving.
5. Learning to Ride – As mentioned at the outset, most of those who read this are already accomplished riders. But if you are not, or are mentoring someone just getting into this crazy world we live in, the dirt is quite simply the best place to learn how to ride a motorcycle. In addition to the skill-building points mentioned in the last 4 bullets, learning to ride on the dirt is not only insanely fun, but it is inherently much, much safer than taking straight to the street. Dirt is softer, you are much better armored up, the speeds are a fraction of street speeds and going off line and hitting some bushes is a lot less painful than hitting a car, a tree or some other object that will win the impact war.

Of course, the best-case scenario is that you live in the best of both worlds and, like me, have street bikes AND dirt bikes in the garage. But if hard choices come with hard constraints, find some way – beg, borrow or steal – to get some dirt bike hours under your belt. In addition to looking totally awesome in the gear, you will quickly discover that there was a much better rider inside of you just fighting to get out.

Riding a motorbike around the world is obviously no mean feat. The financial and logistical burdens can be enormous, it puts immeasurable pressure on relationships (and ended a few of mine), the daily grind is at times intolerable and the risk to life and limb cannot be overstated. Given the myriad challenges that an undertaking like this throws at you, how do we ensure that our mind is in the right state to maximize what is for many a once in a lifetime experience? I have assembled a few points that I wish I had considered before I set off on my own 7-month odyssey.

Patience

When I wrote a piece called Ten Principles to Remain Sane on the Roads of India a few months back, ‘Patience will set you free’ was at the top of the list. Some of us may already have some international riding miles under our belts before we start our circumnavigation. Some will not. The advice here is simple: you’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy, and the rules are different. Merely porting your mindset from your home country to the more challenging corners of the world is a recipe for disaster. Feel that tenseness building in your neck when you’re now in your 3rd hour of being lost in Bangkok’s evening rush hour? Take a breath, let it out and keep going.

Open mindedness

Riding a motorcycle around the world should not simply be about the act of letting kilometers pass under your feet. It’s about exploring the new worlds you will pass through, worlds very different from your own. It might seem strange at first when a checkpoint guard in Baluchistan invites you to his humble dwelling for a meal, especially when you have 8 more hours to the Iranian border. Getting kicked out of your comfort zone and diving into all that is different is the purest distillation of how an RTWer changes your life. Open your mind and drink it all in.

Presence

Yes, that hippie word. Sorry. But the concept is relevant. Every day on the road can range from blissful to revolting, even on the same day. Being present underway simply relates to not using the current day as a pathway to the next. Slow down and take the time to explore. My best personal lesson came while riding through the Thar Desert with my wife on the back. Passing through a massive congregation of camel herders, I asked her through the Bluetooth if we should stop. When she didn’t respond, I assumed she was tired and wanted to keep moving. When I tapped her leg and shouted my suggestion though my visor, she said fuck yeah and we turned around. Spending a couple of hours photographing the exotic scene became a highlight of our RTW experience.

Compassion

Depending on your route, you are likely to pass through countries where the motorcycle you are riding cost more than the people around you could earn in two lifetimes. That being the case, think about ways you can give back. Donate to a local charity, donate some of your time to help build a school or just make an effort to connect with the people you meet, regardless of their social status.

Vigilance

Ah, now the ‘risk’ part. Yes, riding around the world on a motorcycle is dangerous. Self-preservation is hard-coded into all of our brains and is active whether we’re barreling down a country lane in Belgium or striking out for a meal in Quetta, Pakistan. The challenge is dialing vigilance in as you pass through different cultures and geo-political situations such that curiosity and open-mindedness are not squelched. The best way I have found to optimize the two is simply the acquisition of knowledge. Read, ask, sense: all of these information sources allow you to pick a path that is both safe and rewarding.

Curiosity

You obviously already possess this trait in spades if you are considering exploring the world on a motorcycle. But when you’re on the road, sometimes the world becomes myopic and satisfying your curiosity pays the price. Yes, compromises are always required even if you’re planning on spending ten years on two wheels. There are an infinite number of paths you can choose as you make your way around the globe. Allow your curiosity to be factored at each decision point and you will be rewarded.

Tenacity

Yes, tenacity. Persistence. Determination. Perseverance. Resolve. Whichever noun you choose, you must have it above all. Riding a motorcycle around the world is like solving any complicated problem. It is conquered by taking the challenge one small piece at a time. One day, I chose to take a dirt road along the Mekong from Kampong Cham to Phnom Penh instead of the main road. With each passing kilometer, the road ruralized until is was nothing more than a path through the Mekong mud. The 70km ride took 10 hours of toil in tropical heat with multiple falls and a seemingly endless goal. Stuck in a steep ravine with no apparent way out, I wanted to throw the fucking bike to the ground and leave it there. That’s when a half dozen villagers stumbled by and helped push the 700lb bike out of the ravine and on our way.

One kilometre, one challenge, one day at a time. That and tenacity gets it done.

So get your gear, tune-up your bike and pack up the maps. You’re going to ride around the world and your mind is ready for the challenge.