TRAVERSE 29
through my riding gear before I’ d even mounted the bike. Our steads were the very capable GasGas EC250 machines. Jase had handed over the bright red machines like a priest handing over the sacrament, along with a friendly warning.
“ She’ s a bit lively on the throttle,” Jase had explained.“ Just feather it on the climbs.”
I nodded confidently, not a lie, I’ d ridden all over the world, and had even done this sort of stuff, although at a time when plastics were made of sheet metal and a push button start was nothing more than a good kick downwards.
We set off westward, hugging the sugarcane fields before diving inland. The landscape morphed quickly from rural calm to rugged chaos. Towering ridgelines, thick jungle, and impossibly steep valleys, this was a side of Fiji that tourism ads politely omit. The red dirt tracks
TRAVERSE 29