Motorcycle Explorer February 2015 Issue 4 | Page 10

A
s I write this I am preparing my
bike in frozen Colorado, packing for a ride
down to tropical Mexico. The journey will
start as soon as the snow storm has blown
through. As the departure date draws
closer the butterflies increase, the
constant stream of pre trip considerations
are daunting, and knowing I've ridden
down that way before is no consolation.
I
think we all have our own
definition of what adventure is, for me it’s
a word I tend to shy away from. Possibly
due to an enforced overdose of Enid
Blyton as a child, I always associate the
word with well spoken school kids in
shorts, running through the woods with a
loyal and barking Labrador to get home in
time for tea and lashings of lemonade.
H
owever the word has now
become a brand in its own right. I would
never call myself an adventurer, that title
belongs to the upper echelons, the likes
of Sir Ranulph Fiennes, the elite hard core.
To say I'm off to have an adventure, I think
is somewhat presumptuous, I'm just going
to independently ride my bike overland,
and may be something remarkable will
happen or maybe it won’t and I’ll just
have to embellish the truth a little.