I Can Do This! The Women of Two Wheeled Expeditions and how biking became their lives.

Anita Krishnan

It’s been years since Anita began her motorcycle adventure, but her sense of joy and wonder has not diminished one bit. A national level basketball player in her teens, who learnt to ride a motorcycle in college, and then tested her skills in a rally, Anita’s attitude has been “I can do this!”

She began her career as an event manager in Bombay, curating product launches and organizing gigs at nightclubs and it soon became apparent that she was a people person. Getting married soon after to a Naval Officer meant more adventure travel and socializing.

Anita’s passion to see women get out on their motorcycles is a reason why she heads the India division of Women’s International Motorcycle Association. WIMA India as the name suggests is part of a global sisterhood, connecting female riders from across 33 countries.

The pandemic has obviously challenged and changed the world as we knew it. Until the beginning of 2020 Anita had also been leading tours with Two Wheeled Expeditions and will continue to do so from 2022. Meanwhile she has been riding solo, exploring some remote parts of India, learning firsthand about ancient cultures and making the most of each day. But she has also managed to do a few trips with her friends.

When asked about the difference between solo versus group travel, Anita’s take is “riding with friends or leading a tour is a lot of fun as each person brings a unique perspective to the same adventure. On the other hand, riding solo means you choose your own pace and its often introspective. You’ve got to pay more attention to how you or your motorcycle is doing…also the kind of places you’re exploring and at what time. With a group those concerns are shared so you are not as worried.”

Curious riders and often girls have asked Anita what it takes to lead a group or run tours. “A road captain has to be very patient and enterprising at the same time. They should have a hunger for travel and to learn. Keep an open mind to deal with people and situations. A bit of technical know-how about your motorcycle will help and you need to have hospitality/people skills to ensure your group is having a good time. It takes planning beforehand, to anticipate what is required so that you can maximize each day.”

In short, you need a “I can do this” attitude! 

You may not be following her on Instagram or seen her YouTube videos. Might have even missed her talk on Tedx, interviews on BBC, National Geographic and countless other national and international tv networks.

Candida Louis

Maybe you didn’t renew your subscription to Travel+Leisure or Lonely Planet magazines. Over the last 15 years of motorcycling, Candida Louis has come a long way. Enough to warrant an entire book being written on her, titled “Candid Tales”.

Riding to the furthest corners of India and then across 25 countries, including her epic 2018 trip from India to Australia gave her the exposure and skill to lead over 30 tours. For those who have met her or ridden on her tours, what distinguishes Candida is her grit with grace, and a quiet confidence which says, “I can do this”. Excerpts from a recent interview.

1. How did you go from motorcycling for fun to motorcycling full time?

I’ve always loved being outdoors. I figured that if I wanted to continue riding and taking in all these beautiful experiences, I needed to get a job related to biking and motorcycles. But back then all I could find were jobs like a store manager or accounts related deskwork which meant I’d be stuck indoors! So when I joined a company which was in the motorcycle industry, I suggested we create a different department. They agreed and that’s how I began planning and leading tours in 2016. Along with that I also started teaching women how to ride. Before long I had a full time job which kept me outside on the motorcycle. Gradually I also built a social media following by blogging and vlogging my travels.

2. What were some of the biggest hurdles you needed to overcome to get this far?

My knee dislocations which I had frequently from my school days and the doctor telling me I would never walk again was really tough. Then the first 3 years after I quit my job to pursue fulltime motorcycling were extremely difficult. I used up all my savings including my pf and during those years I did most of the work for free. Which meant I was broke and often I would just lock myself in a room and not meet anyone.

3. A lot of people dream of riding across borders but don’t end up fulfilling it. How did you end up doing the Bangalore to Sydney trip?

I feel everyone has a choice to get up every day and do something, to make a difference. I was really determined to finish Alistair Farland’s ride who tragically died in North America while on his world tour. When I started planning for it I imagined myself on a bicycle because I did not have funds to do it on a motorcycle. But I think if you are determined, work hard enough and believe in the power of prayers, the universe just makes things possible. I was able to do my entire ride in what other people spend on buying a middle-weight motorcycle.

So I never quite get what people mean when they say I’m rich or I’m lucky. The reality is I was able to ride from Bangalore to Sydney because I decided that I could do it! 

Wendy Simpson

What would a dad who is in the Police and has seen enough road accidents involving motorcycles tell his teenage daughter when she asks if she can ride one? You guessed it, “no, not even as pillion! They’re too dangerous!” Wendy passed her driving test for a car at 17 and it wasn’t long before she discovered her need for speed. She drove her cars fast, what with them getting fuel injected and having GTI on the back. But her fascination with motorcycles remained. Eventually her parent’s fear and worry could not keep her from saying “I can do this!” Wendy enrolled for motorcycle lessons and even before she passed her test, purchased a stunning R6 in Yamaha blue. Once she got the license, there was no more time to waste. Excerpts from a recent interview:

You finally started riding then you had to stop. What happened? 

As it does with many of us, life got in the way of my passion. Between the full time career which required a lot of travel, relationships and family commitments I had less and less time to ride.  My poor bike spent more time on the trickle battery charger in the garage until I sold it with much sadness. Unfortunately life got a bit more tough as both my parents’ health started to decline. There was no time between helping them both while working full time. My dad passed away due to cancer and then my mum required constant care due to her Parkinson’s disease and dementia until she passed away recently. 

Motorcycling was very much still in the back of my mind and I knew at some point I would get back to it but I also knew I had to wait for the right season.  

How has it been getting back on the motorcycle after such a long break? 

It has been exciting, nerve wracking and exhilarating all rolled into one! I have been taking refresher lessons to remember how to get back on two wheels. I was so convinced I had forgotten it all that I wondered if I would need to ride with stabilisers! Thankfully I found a great local company called Biketec with really patient instructors, Eric and Heath who have helped me get my confidence back. Thanks to them I feel like I can do this! Heath got me started on a 125cc and now am riding a 650cc around the beautiful Scottish countryside and also through the city in all weathers. I feel like I am almost ready to jump on a plane and ride in Nepal or India! 

Any tips to those who may think it’s too late for them to get back to riding? 

I would definitely say it’s NEVER too late. If I can do this, you can too. Yes it’s scary and it’s wild to jump back on the saddle of life…but when we are out negotiating all sorts of roads, it’s an inexpressible feeling of being truly alive! 

It seems impossible to have a conversation about Covid and more specifically about travel during it without touching a nerve somewhere. The topic is as polarised as climate change, racial equality, immigration and pretty much every other social theme of our time. I am not going to wade into that mire. It’s way too tiring. If you are a person who believes that until Covid is ‘over’, the world should remain ‘sheltered in place’, you might be better served spending the next 10 minutes in your garden. But for those of you who accept our new reality and despite this will continue to live your life, read on.

If you have not travelled much in the last 22 months, especially internationally, one basic fact should be understood: the rules have not only changed, they refuse to remain static. So, if an international adventure is stuck in your near-term mindset, don’t despair. With a lot of stamina and some clever sleuthing, catapulting yourself from your Covid penitentiary into our beautiful world is a few clicks away.

Making a commitment..and when

Let’s be honest: the airlines and companies like AirBnB have been pretty horrible throughout this pandemic. I personally have lost thousands on flights that had to be postponed or cancelled, losses that have posted as revenue to the carriers but a big expense to me. And I know I am not alone. It took a while to figure out the best tactic: don’t book more than 3-4 weeks out. As we all know, our current world can become a very different place in a short period of time so a brief gap between booking and travel constrains this risk. And of course, choose a tour company (like ours, for instance) that has the deepest disdain for large, inflexible airlines and one that treats its clients the way we would want to be treated. This means 100% flexibility of your booking in the Covid world.

Getting ready for departure

Disclaimer: All facts may become fiction without notice.

We field questions daily about the rules for travel. The question ‘do I need to be vaccinated’ is invariably among them. Obviously, whether you vaccinate or not is a personal decision. But if you decide not to, you will encounter a strong (quarantine) headwind wherever you go.

Let the fun begin!

Step 1 – Get International Travel Insurance.

This was a strong recommendation well before the Covid waves started crashing over our beach party. This coverage usually cost about USD75 and covers you for illness and injury during your trip. So ‘if’ you take a tumble and need to come home in first class wearing a cast, or ‘if’ you contract the dreaded Omicron or some other letter in the Greek alphabet and require some hospital time, you can rest assured that you will not have to max your credit card getting the care you need. Allianz is a good one that we use, but there are many out there.

Step 2 – India & Nepal – Your ticket to the big show

Time to get real: if you want to travel internationally, you are doing yourself a disservice by not getting vaccinated. That said, this is your choice so if you are down with the facts and don’t mind sitting in a quarantine hotel at your expense, have at it. Once you are past this, the process is straightforward: get a PCR test prior to your flight (how long before varies but usually no more than 72 hours), complete your Passenger Locator Form for the destination country, get your visa and off you go. See? Simple.

Step 3 – Staying safe on road

Once we’re on the road, everything is pretty much as it always was. Kathmandu or Delhi traffic madness (the best video game in the world), stunning vistas, winding roads, sublime food, beautiful smiles. Wearing a mask in hotels and restos is left to the guest although they are still required in taxis and busses. We wear them to keep the dust out of our lungs but short of that, your adventure rolls on as your dreams imagined. Let the awesome unfold!

Step 4 – Getting ready to make your way home

We expect the service level of our hotel partners to be equal to that of our tour company. That means we take care of everything. 24 hours before you depart, our base hotel in Kathmandu, Delhi or wherever will arrange for a reputable local lab to come to the hotel and take bio samples from our entire ride crew. 8 hours later, the results are delivered and you are ready for re-entry.

Step 5 – Navigating your arrival

This is where things become variable based on your home country. Most require the completion of a Passenger Locator Form that essentially captures all your personal data including your vaccination status, your negative PCR result and proof that you have booked a PCR test to be taken upon your arrival back home. (As I write this, the UK has just done away with this silliness but who knows, the madness may yet return.)

The happy ending to this bureaucratic ball of twine is that it really isn’t that difficult. Like adventuring around India or Nepal for 12 days on a motorcycle, it may seem daunting but once you’re done you’ll give yourself a pat on the back and wonder what all the fuss was about. And as far as the riding is concerned, you’ll kick yourself for waiting so long and start planning your escape to do it all again!

I posted a self-deprecating meme a month back consisting of a montage of 5 photographs. The first, in a shot of me at my motorcycling zenith wearing my Vanson race leathers, I’m proudly displaying my race-prepped Ducati 996. The caption reads ‘I’m committed to Italian sport bikes and that is it.’  The second shot shows me on a BMW GS somewhere in Iran and states ‘I will never own a BMW: They’re for old people.’ Next comes me a astride my 40 year old BMW R100 and the cocky line exhorts ‘I will never own a vintage bike. They’re for geriatrics.’ The final image sees me and my girlfriend in our R100/Sidecar combo getting ready to join the Distinguished Gentlemen’s Ride in London. Of course, the misguided text claims that. ‘As long as I can stand, I will never, ever own a sidecar.’ Obviously my words are quite tasty because I dine on them a lot.  

And you may ask yourself, how did I get here? It all started with a realisation that is founded in the ethos of Two Wheeled Expeditions: For me, sharing great experiences creates a sublime level of happiness. One day, one glorious day, I was doing what I often do on a sunny Tuesday afternoon: riding my old BMW with zero plans or destination through central London. The meandering path synchronises with my wandering mind like therapy as I discover streets, shops, parks and whole neighbourhoods I never knew existed. And then the epiphany: I wanted to share this beautiful experience with my girlfriend, her daughter, our dog Tupac and everyone I knew! I promptly logged onto Amazon and ordered some Doggles.

Fast forward to a small workshop in the beautiful Cotswolds countryside and the century-old home of Watsonian Sidecars. With tools that have been in use since the company’s founding, these craftsmen create beautiful bolt-on cockpits of fibreglass and steel that are the standard of the sidecar world. I opted for the GP Manx, not because of its stunning looks or exceptional build quality (it possesses these in spades), but because it was at hand. Either join the 6 month wait list or ride away with this masterpiece. I didn’t even need my brain. With a swipe of the Visa, I was steaming toward London.

I’d like to throw out a cool Fight Club line here and exhort ‘there is only one rule of sidecarring’, but sadly there are two so it doesn’t work. Rule 1 of sidecarring is never forget the sidecar is there unless you really hate your passenger. You may laugh, but this is very easy to do. Jumping into the cockpit and letting a friend take the handlebars saw me nearly go teeth first into a nearby Toyota bumper in a matter of metres. Rule 2 is less perilous: always factor the ‘sidecar lag’ into your ride plans. Regardless of where you go, you will be photographed, videoed, queried, chatted up and wooed by shoppers, bus drivers, kids, policewomen, members of Parliament, canines and pretty much any living creature you come in contact with. Put on your best Brad Pitt face and roll with your newly found fame because sidecars bring joy.

Now as bikers, I’m sure the burning question on the tip of your tongues is what it’s actually like to ride one. In a nutshell, it’s pretty fucking weird at first. Let’s start with the obvious. Motorcycles turn by leaning and leaning is initiated through counter-steering. It’s funny how my riders don’t know that. At your next pub meet, ask someone which way they pull the handlebar to turn right. Right?  BAAAP! Wrong answer. You pull the left handlebar (and push the right) to turn right. When a sidecar is attached, you do the opposite. Pull the right handlebar toward you to turn right. Hard. The ‘hard’ exclamation cannot be overstated because riding with a sidecar requires a lot of upper body work. Especially at speed, you will be working those arms hard to get the 3-wheeler to obey but think on the bright side: in a matter of months you’ll look like Arnold in his prime.

A final tip. In the UK, sidecars are mounted in the left because, since we drive on the left, this keeps the sidecar, and the passenger you love, out of the path of oncoming traffic. When you turn hard to the right, the sidecar acts like an outrigger. You can turn as hard and fast as you want and that 3^rd wheel will keep you planted. Turn hard left, however, and an empty sidecar will quickly lift off the road surface. This may look cool but the cartoonishness of a bike on its side, the sidecar towering above, may lead to undue embarrassment.

I can honestly say that my old BMW R100 gets used ten times more now that it’s grown its sidecar appendage. My girl beams every time I pick her up at work to save her yet another sweaty journey home in the London Underground. My friends’ kids line up to take turns in the Harry Potter mobile. Even Tupac, our German Shorthaired Pointer, has gotten over his initial trepidation and gleefully holds his head above the windscreen as we ride, his soft, floppy ears waving in the wind like socks on a laundry line.

The lesson I learned from all of this is motorcycles are fun. All motorcycles. Dirtbikes, racebikes, enduros, boxer twins, thumpers, sidecars, all of them. Except trikes. I’ll never, ever own a trike. They’re for old people.

I had a dream about my new Klim Badlands Pro riding suit the other night. Or maybe it was a nightmare. The Cordura and Kevlar mass had morphed into a Transformer, Artemis Prime style, and raged though our serene beachside chill spot smashing our Royal Enfield Bullets to pieces. The reality is not far from the dream. Fresh off the rack, the Klim Badlands Pro Jacket and Pants feel like they want to jump to life, swagger across the room and kick the crap out of you. They feel that tough. Putting the new set on feels like donning an exoskeleton. Bring on the battle. Sri Lankan style.

On the flight to Colombo to conduct a refreshed recce of our newest Sri Lanka tour, I am reflecting on the first recce we did there a year earlier. It wasn’t monsoon season but the island doesn’t play by those rules. Each part of the country has its own climate and the deluge followed us around like a stray dog. Every day for the first 4 days, we rode through a perpetual carwash of aquatic ferocity: knee-deep muddy rice fields, flooded village roads, angry streams – we got it all. The Italian adventure jackets we had purchased for our company for their lightness, modularity and reputation were not cutting the chutney. Water penetrated my ride pants and trickled down my legs filling up my waterproof boots over and over again. The jackets, which had the baffling design of placing the waterproofing Gore-Tex layer in the inside of the jacket rather than as its external layer, swelled up to twice their dry weight with water. It was no catastrophe: the rain was warm and we were doing the thing we love most: Creating a new ride experience. But ultimately, this gear that we loved on our drier rides in Nepal, Rajasthan and Ladakh were a ‘big no’ for southern India and Sri Lanka. 

Cue to something new.

I have been using Klim Mojave pants for some time. They are a simple shell and are great for Mojave, Thar and Sahara Deserts, albeit with my own armour. I have also loved the summer and autumn season gloves from the same maker. Great and great. But the foray into a complete suit was new ground for me.

My first impression suiting up for the ride from Colombo up the Indian Ocean coast to Kalpitiya was ‘wow, that’s a lot of pockets.’ 18, to be exact. At one point I tried to fish out my passport to check into our hotel only to find that I could feel it but somehow couldn’t get to it. Like trying to figure out which of my 4 smoke detectors is making the bloody low battery chirpy noise. Of course, I can’t toss Klim a foul flag on the design. I am sure that, with time, my jacket’s new Dewey Decimal System will take shape and every pocket will have it purpose.

Here is what I loved, and what did not.

• Ventilation – Galle, Sri Lanka’s UNESCO World Heritage city, sits a mere 440 miles / 700 km north of the equator so, accordingly, I feared I was going to dissolve inside the suit in the sweltering heat. Not so. Maybe they designed it in a wind tunnel, but once you get moving, I stayed as cool as deep sea cod. There are 8 (!) vents in the jacket alone and they work exceedingly well. Stop for a tea break along a jungle road, however, and you’ll be popping popcorn in there in minutes.
  
  
• Pockets – As mentioned, there are many, many pockets. Too many. When you inventory all the stuff you normally cram into a suit before hitting the adventure trail, the list is finite: Passport, wallet, sunglasses, revolver, currency, phone, lip balm, keys. So 8, maybe 10 max would do the trick. 16 is just showing off. There’s even a jacket pocket at the back above your waistline that reminds me of a game pocket from a hunting jacket. I did slice a 2-metre viper in two with my wheels on a narrow rice paddy track (still feel sorry for that guy) that I theoretically could have snacked on later, but short of that I have no idea what to do with the game pocket.  Maps perhaps? But who uses those anymore?
  
  One other point: all pockets are not created equal. I love the inside jacket pockets lined with armour to (perhaps) protect your iPhone when you face plant. But even more so, I love the front breast key pocket. Never in the history of human civilisation has a wiser pocket been devised.
  
  
• Aesthetic – I am short and for some reason wearing a clunky suit tends to make me look like a Mighty Morphin Power Ranger. I don’t know if it’s the cut, the design or my stellar physique, but this suit did not make me look like a Morphin. Or at least I don’t think I did.
  
  On the negative spin, with the exception of ‘Peyote – Potter’s Clay’ and ‘Stealth Black’, (a big no-no in hot South Asia where we run our tours) all the other colour configurations look like they were randomly selected from a pile of crayons.
  
  
• Armour – I didn’t crash but there is CE Level 2 armour everywhere. The pants did shield me from viper and dog bites but otherwise, the armour went untested. My only complaint, and I hope the nice folks in Idaho are listening, is that weird tailbone plate in the pants. Ever throw on your jeans fresh from the dryer and realise there’s a sock inside along for the ride on your backside? That’s the feeling the buttplate gives. Sitting on rocks or logs or hard plastic stools as you do during these rides places unpleasant (best word I could find) pressure on the very bone it is meant to protect. Maybe my tail is longer than most, but I might banish the buttplate and take my chances.
  

• Weather-Proofing – For the first time ever, I prayed to be blasted with a storm. Unlike last year’s monsoon recce, this one was brilliant sunshine throughout so could not assess the suites watertight-edness. But with most pockets and their zippers being thoroughly treated and the material Gor-Texed from top to bottom, I have faith that I’d have been dry as a martini.
  
  
• Biomechanics – Sounds esoteric, but it’s important. The Klim is as flexible as a suit of armour when unpacked. I fretted that trying to throw my leg over the saddle would be like riding in a body cast. It wasn’t. After throwing the jacket to the dirt like a spoiled child at every tea break for a couple of days, it was as supple as my granddaddy’s baseball glove. In no time, I was doing motorcycle yoga like a guru.
  
  
• Hydration – Wow, really? We often ride with Camelback hydration packs Rajasthan, Nepal, Kerala and Ladakh. I never liked them because they obscure the embroidered ‘Two Wheeled Expeditions’ logo on the back of jackets, stitching we paid a tidy sum for. The Badlands jacket has a built in (my partner Josh had a mind melt event about this) hydration pack pocket in the back of the jacket, MotoGP style, with pre-built tube routes to get the water to your mouth. Wow. So much wow.

Is the Klim Badlands Pro suit the best adventure riding apparel in the history of the universe? I was going to say no, that’s not possible, until superb customer service and a ‘you thresh it, we refresh it’ policy pushed me over the edge. The answer you seek is yes. Yes, this this is the best adventure motorcycling suit ever conceived. However, (and this is a mighty however) it is really expensive. At USD2000 for the pants and jacket, you might think this decision a bit mental. But if you run adventure tours for a living, or adventure riding is a massive part of your life, or you just have hundos lying all over the floor, you are going to find it tough to buy a better exoskeleton to project your hide from the battle outside than Badlands.

When the news of BMW’s latest GS incarnation flashed across some app somewhere, I swiped left. The first thought that came to mind was ‘have they lost their effing minds?’ Did they not see Ewan MacGregor and Charlie Borman in tears as their GS’s fell for the N-teenth time on the Road of Bones or some other gruesomely named off-road stretch? “Too heavy!” they whined. “Big mistake”, they sobbed. I rode my 2007 1200GS around the world and the only reason it made sense in retrospect was that my future ex-wife was on the back seat and I needed the storage. I remember sitting on a 1250 Adventure in a showroom once and proclaimed it a stroke of madness. Unless you are a hardened Dakar racer, riding that bike offroad would be zero fun. So, when the time came to upgrade my 1200GS, I went to the KTM 790 Adventure. It eats miles for breakfast on the motorway from London to Marrakesh and then magically transforms into an enduro once the pavement ends and the Sahara begins. My sweetspot has been found.

So yeah, I swiped left on the 1300. But then, somewhere, I came across a bike review and read about the total ground-up redesign of the bike. One of the biggest complaints I had on the recent versions of the bike was girth and top heaviness, attributes that are not particularly welcome on the undulating, unpredictable surfaces found once the pavement ends. But when I read the centre of gravity has been significantly improved by placing the gearbox under the engine rather than behind it, I decided to keep reading. Words never uttered to convey the Gelände/Straße’s stature – ‘slim, light & agile’ – kept appearing on my screen. 3 days later, I was riding one through London.

I’m 5’7” and several other fractions tall (i.e, not tall) and the biggest complaint anyone under 5’9” always has is it is too tall. I don’t remember the last time I was flat-footed on any adventure bike (never) so I am pretty used to using the balls of my feet. But this bike has a mind-blowing solution to the seat height / ground clearance conundrum: a suspension that can lower itself by an inch and a half as you come to a stop and then raises itself as you ride away! My test bike didn’t have this feature but wow – what a great innovation!

Despite the lack of this wizardry on my test bike, the first time I creaked my leg over and gave it the hard jerk needed to get the tall, heavy bike off its side stand, I noticed the difference in balance. With the centre of gravity so low, it came upright with surprising ease. The bike felt lighter, more nimble and hence more flickable while doing a dance between the buses, taxis, Bentleys and the ultimate pariah – UberEats scooters – of London traffic. Find a hole, squirt power, go.

I have a 1974 BMW R75 bolted to a Watsonian sidecar and I ride it around London all the time. The half century old drum brakes have the worst arrestng power in the history of stopping. The brakes on this GS, from the same company but 50 years later, are a masterpiece.  Or in my notes, ‘like custard’. Smooth, consistent, reassuring. Even with one finger, they have a progressive feel from the lightest touch to the hardest, ABS-releasing grab.

On propulsion, one thought came to mind: if Tesla made a motorcycle whose motor provided a completely linear relationship between twisting the throttle and forward movement, it would feel like this. I don’t even care what the horsepower and torque numbers are: I can feel it and it is perfect.

And finally, the aesthetic. How does its appearance make you feel? It reminded of the new Africa Twin I test rode in 2019. Every bit looked refined, robust and important. The spoked wheels are sublime. The engine doesn’t look like an internal combustion engine at all. It looks more like a mystery power source powered by crystals or alien life juice. There are no cooling fins. It’s power-coated black. It is omnipotent. The ‘X’ shaped LED headlamp is interesting, but the weird guy who has designed Dada-esque GS headlamps for 25 years seems to always get his way and is always ahead of his time. A board member (Elon Musk?) perhaps.

The wheels, especially the rear, looked jacked from a scooter. I thought it was the clearance that made it look small, but no, the rear is only 17” and the front 19”. Why oh why, if this is ever meant to be taken off-road? I’ll ding you here, BMW.

In the end, the new bike has somehow lost some of its GS-ness. The chunky two-wheeled rhinoceros of the past has been dismissed for a spritely kudu. Sure, when you look at its girth from behind it’s still got the shoulders of an NFL linebacker. But viewed from the side, it’s gone from Valerie Adams (Google her) to Kate Moss and this is a good thing: I’d take Kate over Valerie anytime I’m riding through endless mud tracks in Cambodia.

Of course, when I arrived back at the hyper posh BMW of Park Lane on London’s Hyde Park to return the bike, I was accosted with the hard sell. ‘Sorry mate, you can’t sell a seller’, I said. ‘Well, what did you think of it?’, the young Aussie pried. ‘It’s a solution looking for a problem’ was my response and I let him chew on that while I walked out the showroom door, jumped back on my KTM and popped off the sidewalk onto Park Lane toward Buckingham Place. 

The first time you fly into Kathmandu you will be amazed by this wonderland! It’s all that you expected and much more. The hustle bustle, the ancient culture and just the sheer number of people going about their business.

You may have landed with the sole purpose of riding a motorcycle or decided to add it to the tail end of your trekking trip. Either way you have some reservations. You recall travel documentaries showing dramatic traffic footage getting in and out of Kathmandu Valley.

Here are 5 tips to make your adventure less stressful and a lot more memorable.

1. Test Ride a day prior to departure

Even a 15 minute ride around your hotel will get you mentally prepared and put you a little more at ease the next morning. Two Wheeled Expeditions does a bicycle tour around the old town before giving you an orientation on the motorcycles.

With the test ride done your questions become clearer as opposed to imagining scenarios from inside a taxi. Most people are surprised by how quickly they adapt to the Nepali traffic.

2. Leave Early | Return on Saturday

You don’t have to leave at the crack of dawn but by 8am you should be crossing past the various roundabouts which will get progressively busy with each passing minute.

If you can choose your day to return into Kathmandu, Saturday is ideal when the city has least amount of traffic. It’s the one weekend day in Nepal.

 

3. Express yourself

Saints, gurus, priests and all those close to achieving Nirvana beware! If you’re the type who has accumulated religious brownie points, this highway is where you lose them. Your dark side will come rushing out as jeeps, trucks, cars and buses will seemingly scrape past you.

Your survival instinct may kick into overdrive and inspite of the Himalayan beauty all around you may only sense the bus hovering right behind you. Time to express yourself and don’t stress yourself.

By the end of the day you will be grinning from ear to ear but at the start you’ll be glad you’re the only one who can hear you inside the helmet.

4. Chia (tea) Thakali (meal) Breaks

Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise but riding a motorcycle burns up calories. How else can you explain the need to stop for tea and meals every hour? Hourly breaks also makes safety sense.

Choose a chia shop or restaurant with more Nepalis and avoid those that are set up for Western tourists. The quality, price and taste are far better in places catering to local travellers. How do you know which ones are which? The local shops usually don’t have menus.

There are enough options on both sides of the road so find one on your left side. This makes getting back into traffic a lot easier.  Frequent stops reduces the stress and you’re able to process and adjust to the rhythm and rules of riding on a Nepali highway.

5. Overtaking

After couple of tea stops and even a plate of ‘Daal-Bhaat’ you’re ready to do what you thought impossible 24 hours earlier. Overtake a bus!

Always expect someone overtaking from the opposite side even on a curve.  Ensure you have a clear view ahead before pulling back that throttle and honking past the bus or truck. This lets the driver know you’re there and they usually slow down to let you go past.

Get used to buses speeding past you and then abruptly stoping to pick up passengers. You will overtake the stationary bus only to have it rumble past you few minutes later. Relax and enjoy the world’s best video game!

Hopefully these five tips will inspire confidence in you to attempt what many presume is too daunting. Test ride, leave early, express yourself, take breaks, overtake and enjoy the beauty and wonder of Nepal!

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? 

It was one of those biting mornings of late September in 1926, the kind that you know will lacerate your cheeks like a thin ice whip when you get up to speed, when the three bikers convened in the Stretford neighbourhood of Manchester. Their annual pilgrimage to the ancient town of Holywell in Wales was 53 miles of partially paved roads and cobbled streets away. Their transport for the ride, an OK Supreme, a DOT and a Douglas – three now defunct British motorcycle marques that were among the most sought-after of the era – stood fuelled, polished and ready for action. The women who piloted the machines, Babs Nield and Dot Cowley, both accomplished flat track racers, and their friend-slash-motorcycle-junkie, Agnes Golden, were still in their 20’s and anomalies of the riding community. As three of the first women to hold motorbike licenses in the city of Manchester, they were unabashed saboteurs of the stereotypes that were hung on women in the early 20^th century. The nation had only just recently given women the right to vote, they were banned from work after marriage and the notion of a woman even driving  a car seemed like heresy. But none of that mattered at all because Agnes had a mission for the gang: to ride to Holywell, collect some of the holy water for which it was famous, and transport the precious liquid back to Manchester as a gift for her religiously devout mother to cleanse her transgressions. And so, the young women clad in leather, heavy canvas and waxed cotton headed west toward North Wales in the cool morning light.

The roads were rough and only partially tarred so exceeding the 20-mph speed limit was out of the question. Horse-drawn carts still jostled with motorized vehicles for the same swath of macadam and cobbles. Escorted by the stares and jeers of those they passed on the way, the exotic trio arrived in the late afternoon and set to their task of filling Agnes’ grandmother’s flask with the waters from St Winefride’s Well, since the 7^th century a site of Christian pilgrimage. The next day, the flasks were filled and attached to the rear of Agnes’ bike and the women made their way home. It was at about the halfway point while riding through the village of Brooks Bar when a stray dog bolted from under a parked wagon and across the path of Agnes’ front wheel. She was fortunately moving at a slow pace but the evasive action caused her to lose the control of the bike and it went over in the middle of the road. She was unharmed and the bike was fine but the holy water was lost, spilled across the cobbled road like a bucket of mop water. It was Dot who spotted the solution that would set them back on their way. One of the large troughs scattered at regular intervals along the route for the purpose of watering horses would become the source of their faux holy water. Their flasks now refilled, they set off for the final leg of the weekend’s journey and reached home by nightfall. Agnes’ mum was waiting at the doorstep having heard the small-bore bikes from a half mile away. She beamed as she watched her daughter arrive home safely carrying the precious liquid cargo from Holywell. She could not wait until the flasks were in the house before taking a sip and declaring it ‘the best holy water she’d ever tasted’.

 

The women drifted apart over the decade that followed. Both Dot and Babs pursued their careers as flat trackers and Agnes settled into her role as a wife and mother to five children during the great depression. As soul destroying as it was, her bike was one of the first possessions to be sold off. The family scraped by in the pre-war years and then absorbed the full brunt of the Blitz from their simple two up / two down in the rough neighbourhood of Stretford. The Christmas Blitz of 1940, a ten-hour brutalizing by the German Luftwaffe that killed 73 people in Stretford alone on the night of 22 December, nearly led to the demise of the whole family when a bomb hit a school next to their home but failed to explode.  For Agnes, dreams of motorcycling seemed as faint as the heartbeat of a loved one near death.

 

Six years later hardship struck the family yet again when the River Irwell burst its banks and flooded the entire neighbourhood. As the water levels subsided, Agnes’ husband, Steven and youngest child Charles came upon a 1935 Norton that had been submerged in the floodwaters for over a month. Over the months that followed, the two painstakingly restored the bike in the sitting room of their little house. Charles still recalls vividly when his father first kick-started the resuscitated machine and the thunderous exhaust brought down 100 years of soot and grime from the sitting room fireplace, filling the room with blackness and roars of laughter. The home was a disaster, but they didn’t care because their mission had been accomplished. A week later, for her 50^thbirthday, Steve and Charles presented Agnes with a gift that rekindled a flame that was never quite extinguished: After 16 years, this pioneering woman was once again a motorcyclist.

The Norton was hers.

 

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.

Starting from the moment you step off the plane, India is intense. The pace, the noise, the smells – the senses are immediately overloaded. And of course, 99.99% of foreign visitors choose to avoid a ‘two-wheeler’ as their mode of transport. But you are cut from a different cloth.

To help you find harmony in the country as you explore its magic, I have have assembled some nuggets of wisdom known as “Principles for Keeping you Sane and Safe on the Road”.

1. Patience will set you free – The first principle is also the most important. India is a frustrating world if you expect things to happen quickly and efficiently. So when you pull up to the nice hotel you’ve booked and the security guard informs you that you cannot enter the compound because you’re on a ‘two-wheeler,’ take a breath and roll with it. Eventually you’ll get the hang of it.

2. Everyone is not trying to kill you (although it will seem they are) – A person on a two-wheeler is automatically relegated to the lower castes. You will understand this the first time you ride on a highway and are forced to the shoulder by a bus driver hanging inches from your taillight. Our best advice is not to fight it: A TATA truck weighs 40,000lbs; you weigh 650. Yield and enjoy the ride.

3. Horn and be horned – Horning is a national pastime in India. It is essentially an affirmation that ‘I am here’ so please don’t kill me. During one of my longest rides, the horn on my BMW packed up. You will never feel more exposed to danger on the road in India as a motorbike rider without a horn. Without one, you simply do not exist. Horn, and horn often.

4. The Law of 3’s – As part of your daily ritual of waking up, eating dal and chapatis, packing your shit and setting off to where you will sleep that night, you will inevitably pass through 2 or 3 towns. These towns will resemble the textbook definition of chaos. In some you will be posed with a decision. Do I go left, do I go right, or do I go straight? There will not be any signs. Or at least any signs you can read. Maybe your GPS will work. Maybe it won’t. So you will have to ask for directions. Chances are, the directions will be wrong. The trick is to ask 3 times. Pull over, seek out the most educated looking person you can find (many lower caste people have not strayed far from their home so asking directions to a place 100km away is like asking them how to get to Mars – so don’t ask a guy driving an ox cart), and ask them if this is the road to your next destination. (An Indian ‘yes’ nod looks a lot like a Western ‘no’ shake so make sure you get this right.) Set off a 100 ft and look for the next educated looking person. Ask the same question. Now you get it. Do this one more time. The reason for the Law of 3’s is that you can double verify the initial instruction. After setting off 40km in the wrong direction one day, making the difference between a night time versus daylight arrival, I became an avid fan of the Law of 3’s.

5. The Law of 100’s – No matter how hard you try, averaging over 100 miles (160 km) per day seems to be impenetrable. Traffic, getting lost (see rule 9), animal/mineral/vegetable based obstacles will all conspire to constrain you to the Law of 100. Plan accordingly.

6. Never, ever get comfortable – Invariably you will find yourself on a stretch of road devoid of cows and tractors and feel inclined to settle back, relax and roll the throttle. It is then that an unmarked speed bump will send you lofting out of your seat. Oncoming vehicles in your lane, camels, dogs, unmanned police barricades, crater-sized potholes…the list is endless. All of these will send you into a ditch. Stay alert!

7. Enfield, mighty Enfield – Enfields are made for India. They have vintage style, are tough, reliable and can be fixed by anyone, anywhere. Love your mighty Enfield.

8. Beware the night – This one is a no brainer. Your chances of being in a nighttime accident are three times higher than when the sun is up. This risk is exponentially higher in India where streetlights are rare, trucks regularly run without tails lights and muddy cows grazing burning garbage on the side of the road are almost invisible. Get to your next waypoint before sundown.

9. Get Lost – Although it may stand in contradiction to the Law of 3’s, getting lost often leads to adventure as long as it doesn’t violate Principle #8. A small miscalculation en route back to Delhi from Jaisalmer led us through Shekhwati, a beautiful and oddly untouristed region of some of the most inspiring havelis (traditional, courtyard endowed mansions usually artfully adorned with hand-painted frescos) I have seen anywhere. Let the adventure unfold!

10. Laugh. A lot. – I have never laughed so hard as when we were delayed at a railway crossing. With both barricades down and warning lights flashing, both sides of the track amassed a directly opposed swarm of every conceivable form of transport: from 20-ton trucks to camel-drawn carts. When the bells ceased and the barriers were raised, the ensuing carnage was like a scene out of Braveheart. The two sides clashed over the tracks in a gargantuan tangle with horns blaring and paint scraping. Scenes like this repeat themselves over and over again. Enjoy it, for this, is why you came.