TRAVERSE 7
EDITORIAL
There’ s a peculiar thing that happens when motorcyclists get talking about“ remote roads.” Someone drops a name— maybe the Dalton, the Dempster, or the Canning Stock Route— and suddenly, everyone morphs into a grizzled explorer. Eyebrows arch, chests expand, and inevitably, someone mutters about carrying extra fuel, surviving for days on jerky, and escaping a pack of wolves with nothing but a Leatherman and sheer determination.
But here’ s the truth; what counts as“ remote” or“ dangerous” really depends on where you’ re from, how you ride, and just how many creature comforts you’ re willing to do without. Take the European rider raised on Alpine switchbacks, forever dodging camper vans and wandering cows. For them, a gravel road in the Yukon feels like the surface of Mars. Meanwhile, the Aussie listens politely and thinks,“ Mate, I’ ve done a thousand kilometres of bulldust without even a tree to pee behind, let alone a fuel stop or mobile reception.” It’ s all relative. I once met a fellow from New York City who spoke in reverent tones about his ride through Montana as though he’ d gone entirely off the map, deep into the Himalayas.
“ Dude,” he confided, eyes wide,“ there was no Starbucks for, like, hours.”
On the flip side, I have a Chilean friend who shrugs off a day with only three river crossings as“ a bit tame,” barely worth mentioning.
The point is, motorcycle adventure is personal— entirely subjective. What feels like rugged isolation to one rider might be a scenic, well-maintained back road
IT ' S ALL RELATIVE!
to another. I’ ve ridden alongside people who panic at the mere sight of a dirt track, and others who consider GPS navigation a sign of weakness. Some won’ t leave home without a Spot tracker and a thirty-page ride plan. Others toss in a toothbrush, an emergency can of beans, and reckon they’ re ready for anything.
Me? I’ ve learned to take the legends with a grain of salt. This perspective was hammered home recently during rides through Canada and Fiji. Despite all the stories, the Dempster in Canada turned out to be one of the easiest roads I’ ve ever ridden— though I admit, the weather was perfect, meaning near perfect road conditions. Fiji, on the other hand, gave me three days of the hardest riding I’ ve done in years. Being middle-aged and slightly“ plump” didn’ t help either, but it made for better stories over a beer, mostly at my expense.
So, when someone starts spinning yarns about remote-road hardship, take it with a smile and maybe ask what they usually ride. For every weather-beaten solo soul in the Andes, there’ s someone who thinks a pothole in Perth is an act of God.
And honestly, both are probably right. After all, every journey is epic— just depends on who’ s telling the tale, and who’ s listening.
So, take the following pages as gospel, for every adventure is real, to at least one person.
Leigh
TRAVERSE 7