It’s What We Do

This entry is part 1 of 26 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #4

There’s something truly edgy and addictive about riding solo.

On the face of it, riding alone is a mug’s game. If you have a mechanical problem or an injury there’s a reasonable chance you’ll be a long way from help.

Even a well-marked dirt road might not see a lot of traffic compared to the bitumen our road-bike colleagues are using.

For those who thrive on the challenges of more remote areas, traffic might be as infrequent as a vehicle every couple of days. That’s a long time to be lying in the dust with a collapsed lung or a dusted engine.

But there’s something about knowing that it’s all down to you. There’s no waiting while a mate heads off to find parts or help. There’s nobody to alert emergency services if you’re lying unconscious in the 40-degree heat, or to tie a tourniquet around a thigh squirting arterial blood from a severed femoral artery. There’s not even anyone to hold a mangled wheel as you try and bash it into a usable shape with a rock. As the time and distance rolls away under his wheels, the solo rider leaves help, comfort and safety further and further behind, and more and more backs himself to cope and to survive.

Surely that’s the greatest adventure of all?

There are things like SPOT trackers and sat phones that can reduce the risk considerably, but that hollow feeling in the gut is still there if the motor misses or an animal bolts from behind a tree and leaves a few tail hairs stuck to a footpeg or front wheel. And all the communication in the world won’t guarantee medical help or spare parts in isolated areas of our huge country in whatever time they may be needed.

So sensible riders travel in groups, or perhaps pairs.

I have to confess I’m a solo rider at heart. I very seldom get to ride alone, and when I do, I’m careful to stay in relatively well-populated areas. But there’s something about knowing you’re sticking your jaw out at Fate and inviting her to throw a sucker punch that really grabs me. I love the brinkmanship.

So I actually find it a little strange to feel how much I enjoy riding with a bunch of great people.

Maybe it’s because of my solo tendencies, but there’s something incredibly uplifting about joining in with a group of like-minded riders who are having a ball.

It doesn’t matter where they’re going or what they’re riding, fronting up to the challenges together and helping each other through is incredibly fulfilling.

Laughing at each other and joining in to overcome an obstacle, or maybe even being the object of the joke yourself, can be a whole lot of plain old fun. Even though the tension and anxiety isn’t there, it’s replaced with something a great deal more enjoyable and uplifting.

I guess it’s just good ol’ Aussie mateship.

And it’s at the very heart of adventure riding, I reckon.

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