“
Dad, I want some frozen
yoghurt … dad,” screamed
Curly, my 5 year old daugh-
ter.
“DAD!”
Fuzzball, her 7 year old
brother, is already filling his cup with
lychee, salted caramel and endless
other yoghurt flavours at our café
strip.
It’s been a month since our latest
adventure to Khardungla; the high-
est motorable road in the world and I
still think about it daily. So much so,
that I’m often distracted, staring right
though people as they are talking to
me, thinking only about the next time
I can get back to the Himalayas.
My vacant stare when I’m not on
a motorcycle adventure is only bet-
tered by the wife’s when I’m talking
to her about our adventures. While
we share many things in common,
motorcycling or adventure isn’t one
of them.
I’m slightly distracted by Fuzzball
smearing frozen yoghurt over the
table as his symphony of flavours
promised a Beethoven experience
but proved to be more like the brain
melting, noise that emanates from
a Scandinavian Death Metal band.
Looks great but they’re best listened
to with the volume turned to -1.
Speaking of brains, Curly has her
head in her hands and is rocking
back and forth mumbling something
about brain freeze.
I decided to postpone the filling
out of the father of the year applica-
tion for another year.
All these flavours to choose from,
gets me thinking, it’s a little bit like
adventure motorcycling. Some peo-
ple like Peanut Butter, some Mint
Chocolate and some weirdo’s like Pis-
tachio. There’s no wrong or right, it’s
just personal preference, except for
Taro flavoured frozen yoghurt. Taro
is just a fancy potato, and no one
wants potato flavoured yoghurt.
It’s the same with Adventure mo-
torcycling, some love the buzz it gives
TRAVERSE 23