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Discovering Motorbikes: 1One of the things I love about travelling is that you attempt totally unexpected things without a second thought. That's how it was with me and motorbikes... I was crammed into the back of a twelve-seater minibus with about twenty other people, their luggage and their livestock in Zimbabwe. With my knees up around my ears and the bus swaying through every corner, the seed of motorbike riding was being planted. I had hooked up with an Aussie bloke who, between curses about the capabilities of our driver, entertained me with stories of travelling on two wheels. Compared to the bus ride from hell, it seemed like a great idea, so before I knew what was happening I was in Johannesburg purchasing half ownership of a Suzuki GS850 road bike with a bloke I had known for about 2 weeks. Soon it was time for the test ride and I sat white knuckled on the back of a bike for the first time in my life. I didn't actually consider the danger of riding until about two weeks into the trip. We were in Namibia, heading for Soussusvlei National Park to see the great sand dunes. The dirt road was gouged with massive corrugations. Unless you wanted your teeth shaken out, it was important to keep the speed up to about 60 km/ hr so that the bike would plane over the surface. That would have been fine, except that on either side of the four-wheel drive tyre ruts were walls of loose sand. If the front wheel slammed into those we were going to be stopping in a real hurry! I sat rigid on the back, not daring to shift my weight in the slightest as Jack struggled to keep the heavy road bike on line. It suddenly dawned on me that you could actually get hurt doing this! It took all day, but we finally reached the camp ground with shattered nerves. The park ranger was there to greet us. "No motorbikes allowed in the National Park" Namibia isn't too fond of motorbikes. I could understand it, you know, if there were hungry lions and such prowling around, but we were in the middle of the desert. I could hardly see a motorbike doing more environmental damage than a four-wheel drive. Still, that was the rule and the park ranger was adamant that we couldn't stay. We didn't have a lot of choices at this point in time. The sand dunes are in the middle of nowhere with no water supply other than the camp ground and the nearest town another day's ride away. What the hell did this bloke expect us to do? I had come too far and been way too scared to deal with this. Jack went off his nut as we sank deflated to the ground. The spectacle of two hysterical Australians was too much for the Ranger and he finally capitulated. "OK, you can stay one night, but you must push the bike to the camp site". We looked at the campsite, in the distance, across the sand, and then back at the 200kg, fully-laden bike. He had to be kidding! Finally, we settled into the campsite, and, after a couple of tokes on a joint, my hands stopped shaking. Next morning we hitched a ride in a four-wheel drive to the sand dunes and all the hardships of the previous day were forgotten. What an awesome and powerful place the desert sands are. We stood on a salt plain, surrounded by towering dunes on all sides. The sun beat down relentlessly as we struggled to climb the dunes, desert red against a vivid blue sky. The fun part was surfing off the top, rolling, sliding and tumbling down the slopes. With not a single landmark to be seen on the horizon, our sense of direction was soon lost. The only way out was to back track along your footsteps. I soon settled into the routine of touring. The solitude, the freedom, the sense of space and time. Miles and miles of subtle desert beauty. No sooner had I mastered the skill of pillion riding, than Jack was badgering me to have a ride up front. What if he caught malaria or was bitten by a snake in the middle of the desert with no one for miles around? Our life could depend on me being able to ride for help. So I started riding stretches of highway with my toes barely touching the ground, unlicensed on a fully laden 850cc motor bike with pillion! Ignorance is bliss. (Jack has just reminded me that he nearly lost his leg as I roared out of control past the campground gate. I am sure he is exaggerating!) By the time I returned to Melbourne, my passion for motorbike riding was well established. It wasn't long before I was touring Victoria on a Suzuki GN250. It was just as well that I was a novice in Africa. If I had known then what I know now I would not have attempted half the adventure! Michele Olsen
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