Going Down

Panicking and silently yelling obscenities at my disheveled self, I tried to peel my heavily loaded Suzuki DR650 off a nice-looking couple’s car. This was the rush hour in Neiva, Colombia, and as I tried to filter through traffic, my right pannier got hit by an impatient bus, propelling me into a clumsy wobble and, eventually, into the door of a black sedan. It wasn’t really a crash, more of a soft, embarrassing thud – but there I was, stuck, with the terrified car people staring at me in shock and disbelief …

No, no, stop, rewind. “Hit” by a bus isn’t quite accurate. The bus just sort of nudged me a little, almost lovingly, and …

Okay, okay. Fine. The bus didn’t hit me. It didn’t nudge me, either. I hit the goddamn bus. I miscalculated the width of the panniers, the bus was moving and I guess I sort of bumped into it.

There I was, a one-woman circus, an idiot gringa who tried riding Colombian style and ended up sideways. People were staring, some visibly amused, some deeply unimpressed. A nice older man jumped off his own motorcycle and helped me pick Lucy up. I thanked him and tried to apologize to the freaked-out couple in the car, but the traffic started moving. 

A minute later, the whole incident was forgotten. People just went about their business. Me, I never forgot it, and to this day, I mostly lie about what happened. “I got squished between two cars,” I say to people. “A bus hit me.”

“Well, nudged me, really.”
“In fact …”

When I got my first motorcycle, a Chinese 150 cc, I was not aware that falling was generally viewed as uncool. As a former horse rider, I felt no prejudice towards involuntary landings. If one fell off a horse, all one had to do was tuck and roll, get up, locate and catch one’s mount, confirm there were no hard feelings on the four-legged side, and get back into the saddle. 

During my brief but entertaining horse training career, I experienced many forms of falling off: dragged along country lanes with my foot stuck in a stirrup, thrown into tree trunks and hedges while fox hunting, launched over fences during show jumping, bucked off while negotiating a with young, uncooperative equines. It was just part of the job, and no one ever batted an eye. Even photo captions in English fox hunting magazines under pictures of red-jacketed riders tumbling over hedges would read “Spectacular Dismount at the Shropshire Hunt,” instead of “Bunch of Inept Folks Fall Off Horses, Haha.”

I brought the same attitude to my little motorcycle: I’d come off once in a while, but because the bike was so small and light, I’d giggle, pick the bike up, dust myself off and carry on. It never dawned on me that the act of falling was somehow lame. It was just something that happens sometimes, like flat tires, or grit in your face from a passing truck, or rain. Just a natural rhythm of moto-life, I figured.

But when I started hanging out with other motorcycle riders, especially after coming back to Europe, something changed. Somewhere along the way, I learned that to fall off meant humiliation. To fall off meant you were incapable, a noob, an object of sniggers and laughter. Nobody explicitly said this, of course. They didn’t have to. Falling off was just uncool, even if you tucked and rolled with smashing success.

However, not all dismounts were equally lame, I learned. Just like other baseless social constructs that unnecessarily, but spectacularly, complicate our lives, there is a hierarchical system categorizing motorcycle falls. Some are permitted, some tolerated and some cruelly laughed at –  the Tiers of Uncoolness.

Dignified Dismounts

There are falls caused by forces outside of your control: other vehicles, suicidal squirrels, landslides and the like. If you fall off your bike because a befuddled Bambi ran out in front of you, your fall counts as a justified, and therefore dignified, one. Perspective is an important element. Sure, maybe you lost control on loose baby-head rocks, or maybe, just maybe, you spotted a field mouse soaking up the sun on a pebble and didn’t want to ruin his afternoon. Maybe the bus hit you, maybe you hit the bus … Semantics.

Tolerable Falls

Some falls are kind of okay. They’re kind of your fault, but still sort of tolerated, like if you find yourself on the ground after attempting to ride slick mud, deep ruts in bulldust, a log or some equally sinister surface. After all, in these cases, you’re not just Egle the Nerd who forgot to focus due to daydreaming and tumbled off – no, you’re a Brave Fallen Hero of the Gnarliest Tracks Imaginable.

Laughable Stupidity

Finally, there are falls that should not, by any means, be brushed off or forgotten easily. You know when you have to stop at the top of a hill, and there’s a slight decline on the left side but you’re not really paying attention, and before you know it, your bike is tipping over? That is a serious offence, in many cases more despicable than killing John Wick’s dog. Fell off crossing a small puddle because your front wheel slipped? Disgrace. Came off on a slow uphill U-turn? Duuuude.

But just like with all other social constructs, in reality you’ve got a choice: You can either strictly adhere to the code, scrupulously log and categorize your falls, and using the Tiers of Uncoolness algorithm, calculate where you stand on the spectrum between utter lameness and glorious badassery. Or you can simply tuck and roll, unselfconsciously chuckle, get back into saddle and keep riding.

Broke or Flush

You know how this goes, you are about to read a balanced article about how there are pros and cons on both sides and ultimately it comes down to a personal preference as to what works for you as a individual with your own set of unique proclivities, including that weird thing you do with that inanimate object we won’t mention.  

I call bullshit!

OF COURSE its better to have lots of money.  Even for Adventure riding.  

So, before you skinflints get out pen and paper to write a protest letter, let me ask you, is that a ballpoint pen you are using or a quill you fashioned for the purpose?  Maybe you were about to write an e-mail?  Computers are a thing too.  Bit costlier than a chook arse feather though.

But motorcycles are different right?  

I still call bullshit!

I dare you to take off the luxury items from your bike.  Start with removing your grips and all the padding from your seat.  You don’t need them.  If you were broke, you couldn’t afford them anyway.  

Now go for a nice long ride.  How was your adventure riding experience?  Did you enjoy a day with sore wrists and a red raw bum?  If the answer is ‘Yes’, then my apologies, I didn’t realise you were a private school teacher from England.  As you were.

Everyone I know wants more money.  You don’t have to spend it on your bike or ADV experience, but if you had it, you would.

‘But ADV is about skill, man and machine versus mountain, not some amazing electronic trickery helping you out or an expensive coffee maker the next day!’ I hear you say.

Ever had a coffee headache from detoxing?  They aren’t pleasant.  

What you really, really mean when you say these things, is that your ADV is about talking crap at the bar (or campsite, if you must) and about how, even though you are poor, you were a hero.  Ever notice how the challenges you overcame keep growing every time you retell them? 

Let’s face it, what you probably did was just push your bike through a muddy puddle.  If that is the glory of ADV for you, and that makes you a legendary figure just awaiting a Marvel film in your honour, then when I win Powerball, I have absolutely no problem having you jump out of my luxury support vehicle and push my bike whenever I come to a muddy puddle.   I’ll pay you well.  

You can even ride along with me.  When I get a flat tyre, my crew will fix it, while I recline on a chaise lounge being fanned by bikini clad femme fatales.  When you get a flat tyre, you will use your skill and wily wit … while sweating like a pig.  If I get lost, or hurt, I’ll use my expensive technology to get help.  You won’t.  If my bike won’t start, I’ll use my expensive battery charger.  You can do … whatever it is you do in that situation. 

At the end of the day, while you sit on the sodden earth, telling your mates about your ‘adventure’, I will eat Lobster, drink fine red wine, have my aching muscles massaged by nymphs and trust me, have very much enjoyed my ADV experience.  Later, I will go to bed in my tent, that was erected by someone else, and sleep on a thick mattress under a downy doona, while you shiver and fight off mosquitos. 

Oh, and the next morning, my Italian barista will make me a Kopi luwak cappuccino, even if I have to pay for a 180km extension cord to a power outlet.  

And if we meet in a pub a week later, guess what, I’ll be able to make up delusional stories just as good as yours.  The only difference is, when I tell a joke, my entourage will laugh.

Tell me again how good it is being broke?