When she, Birgit, said all that time ago in Asia, "Yes I'll come with you to South America, but I want to ride my own bike," I'd said, "OK, but you'll have to maintain it".
She'd taken this comment to heart and had bought a beaten-up old BMW R60/5. With a friend she had ripped the bike to bits, and had rebuilt it, twice. She'd become a really good mechanic and in some areas was far better than I was, even after my four and a bit years on the road. Now, as her bike was to the front, Birgit pulled out her tools and got on with the task of putting it back together.
The crowd of labourers was now about thirty strong and they looked on in stunned silence as a girl got to work doing a man's What made it more confusing for them was that I, as the man, was hanging around, seemingly as a spare part. In actual fact, of course, I was just respecting Birgit for her ability and knew that she'd ask if she needed help. I was also shooting an occasional glowering look at the men as best I could. This was an unspoken, "Stay back and keep your hands off our tools and kit" type of stare. It would have been too easy for something to go missing if we both got our heads down and were focusing on bike mechanics.
The porters' eyes flicked from Birgit with confusion, to me with a mixture of contempt (how could I let a woman do a man's job?) and admiration (Good grief, he's even trained his woman to do this for him. He must be a king!)
Distant Suns Sam Manicom p21