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.