Motorcycle Explorer October 2014 Issue 2 | Page 37

Overlanding My claim to survival fame was a rather large tumble while crossing the desert in northern Namibia. 17 bone fractures, four days unconscious and a well dinged bike being the result. Oh, and after having been through a bunch of hospitals while I was unconscious, a worry that I might have contracted HIV. After all, at that time this area was one of the most Aids stricken in the world. And the prang? It was down to some guy who either wasn’t concentrating on what he was doing, or was a visitor to driving in these sorts of conditions. He zipped past me at a rate of knots, leaving me in a huge dust cloud. My downfall was the metre deep hole in the road that was carefully hidden in the opaque, beige coloured fog he left behind him as he belted on past. Apparently I made the matron laugh when I woke up. My first questions to her were, “How’s my bike? Followed by, “Is it ok?” and “Where is it?” Over the next weeks I discovered one of the key things of overlanding. If you keep positive, there is a silver lining. In this instance it was the people I met as a direct result of the accident. Is it nuts for overlanders to put them in situations where things like these can happen? No, they are just the downsides. There is so much more that by far and away counterbalance the risks. To my mind adventure is a mix of every challenge that can possibly tantalize your senses. And I mean all your senses. Your sense of sight should be astounded. Your sense of smell should be teased. Your sense of touch should come not only from the feel through your handlebar grips, and you should be able to take in such things as the textures and tastes of strange foods. There’s no doubt that India, for example, will hammer your sense of hearing, but this land will also allow you to appreciate the sound of silence. The flip side to the noise-coin is the almost eerie sound of a goat herder’s pipe floating gently through the thin Himalayan air. I’m rather partial to those magical deserted beaches where you can swing in a hammock under a palm tree with just the sound of waves rolling onto the beach to keep you company. And writing that has suddenly made me think of the magic of the skies at night in the Southern Hemisphere. Lay on your back, with a warm breeze blowing over you and the stars feel so close that you can almost reach up to touch them. And I really value the sensation of accomplishment when I make it to the end of a long stretch of gnarly road. It’s a buzz.