When I tell people I ride a motorbike I receive one of two responses. Either they smile and nod knowingly – an implicit understanding of the underlying ethos, an appreciation of biking as adrenaline driven but also a spiritual connection with the environment.
The other response is sheer horror. Their eyes grow wide as they lecture me on how dangerous it is to ride a motorbike, and how they know so-and-so who was killed just last week on their bike.
Yes, motorbiking is dangerous – but not because it brings you closer to death. Motorbiking is dangerous because hours on the road with just you inside your helmet is transformative – it naturally gives way to deep, revolutionary thinking. It was when motorbiking through South America that Che Guevara progressed his idealistic agenda that shaped history. While our trip has a much more modest agenda, I know that I will arrive in New York different to that person who first set off from Portland in June. The conversations on route will ferment, crystallise and finally filter as I spend hours on the road. Who knows what revolution this trip will bring