I sometimes try and pinpoint when I officially became an adventure rider.
It comes up from time to time in conversation, and I occasionally hear ad manager Mitch saying, “He was an adventure rider before it was ever called adventure riding.”
I often feel I was close to being an adventure rider when, as a kid filled with blessed ignorance, I’d fire up whatever worn-out late-1970s model second-hand shitter bike I had at the time – I couldn’t afford anything better – and just go. If I’d tagged up with a group to thrash along a beach or do loops through forestry, or head out to watch an event 250km away up the main road, I’d throw my weight on the kickstarter, wait until the oily smoke cleared, and join in.