Not for its own sake: I am not the kind of biker who can ride the same bends over and over, looking for the sweet sweep of perfection.
I love the road for the gifts it brings me and the people I meet when I ride along it.
I would not have covered 2,000 miles in Australia in January if I hadn’t met Steve last year as the sun went down over Henry’s Camp Site in Cornwall and heard him talk about riding the red roads from Brisbane to Perth, on road tyres on his TDM. He made me think Australia was a country worth flying for 18 hours to get to. And he was right.
And I wouldn’t have met Steve if I hadn’t fallen in love with the RBR and the extraordinary, incomparable crew that support me, chastise me and take the piss out of me in equal measure. My life would be so very dull without them.
I learn something on every journey. Sometimes small things, like, don’t try and overtake teenage girls in hot hatchbacks. Sometimes big things, like, even though I am a person who loves to be with other people, and (as last Satuday proved) will always turn down a day doing sensible things in the house for the chance to drink tea and trade insults with Graham, Paul and Jim, a day is not wasted if there is no-one living it beside me.
The great and secret joy of being a writer is that I get to live my life twice. Once at the time and then again when I try and capture it in words for you to read. It has been a selfish privilege to write every day for a month about my amazing holiday. Thank you to FuzzyGalore for setting the challenge, MotoDiva, NWExplore, Nikos, BobScoot, Adrian from YouMotorcycle, Bobbi, and everyone else who has left comments on the blog and via Twitter, and, on the far side of the world, David and Lynne, Adrian, Mel, Woody and all the Blue Knights, and Steve, whose fault it was that I went at all.