Motorcycle Quote of the Day

[Biggles]

It was every man, dog, and donkey for themselves as I threaded my way through the mayhem. On the outskirts of a large town the havoc went into overdrive when I was narrowly missed by a moped which overtaking a car which was overtaking a truck which itself had started the whole overtaking furore by trying to get round a horse and cart. A bus coming the other way was forced off the road on to the verge, but it was also being overtaken by a beat-up yellow taxi which refused to get out the way of the moped/car/truck/horse/cart formation. Just as I was steeling myself for an almighty pile-up, a man shouting into his mobile phone wandered into the path of the taxi. The blasting of horns and yelling was deafening, and I was expecting to witness a spectacular crash, or at the very least, a good punch-up, but somehow everyone survived unscathed and off they all went as if nothing had happened. I had seen some loony driving in my time, but this was the best yet. As I continued on my way through the numerous small towns and villages, this scene, or similar, was repeated approximately every five minutes. I realised this was the Tunisian Highway Code in action, and I'd better get used to it.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p31-2

[Biggles]

I don't know what happened that day - maybe that sticker had some magic effect, or maybe it was a simple case of sink or swim. But I swum like I had never swum before. It was as if a switch had been flicked and suddenly it all came together; I was flying along across the sand, keeping up with John and loving every moment of it. But more importantly, I wasn't wilting in the desert heat, or even feeling in the least bit weary; if anything it was quite the opposite. Any nervousness had completely disappeared, to be replaced with utter exhilaration, and as we roared across the desert I relished every dune, every rock, every grain of sand! I knew I was experiencing a significant turning point, and for the first time since leaving home I felt nothing but pure excitement about the Saharan adventure that lay ahead. It dawned on me that I had spent the last few months chewed up and dragged down with fears about this trip, but now here I was, completely free of any anxiety. The sensation was almost like an artificial high, and I realised how easily desert riding could become a serious addiction. Even if it only lasted today, I knew I had experienced an epiphany.
"Wow!" said John, when we stopped at a track junction to wait for the truck. "You seem to have got into the swing of it!"
I was riding on air.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p44

[Biggles]

Josianne and Angel were safely behind the glass of the Land Cruiser rear windows, and it occurred to me that the exposure of travelling by motorcycle is both its appeal and its downfall. Here I was, laid bare to everyone and everything, to the hawkers and the gawping men, the persistent children and the burning sun. There was no door to lock between us, no button to press that would roll up a window and remove me from their world. I was a sitting duck. But there was also the smell of the spices that drifted out from the market, the occasional gentle breeze that brought such relief from the heat, the sound of a hundred Arabic conversations competing with the warbling Rai music that pumped out of a little cafe. Despite the awkward situation that we currently found ourselves in, I wouldn't have swapped the saddle of my bike for the confines of a seat in the back of a car.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p69-70

[Biggles]

"What snakes?" This was the first I'd heard of snakes; being on the bike meant I missed out on the group conversations that took place in the Land Cruiser.
"He said we shouldn't camp near rocks because snakes live under them, and now look where we are, nothing but bloody rocks everywhere!"
"I'm sure there won't be any snakes," I lied hopefully.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Josianne said. "Just ignore me, I'm being silly."
She stared at the ground, thoroughly dejected.
"Well, look, I've got an idea - there's an airport at Tamanrasset. We should be there in about a week or so. Maybe you could fly from there to Cameroon somehow, or to somewhere else, and we could meet you after we've crossed the desert?"
Josianne looked at me apologetically and shook her head.
"No, I can't do that."
"Why not? I'm sure Jacques would understand."
"No, it's not that," she hesitated, "it's just that, well, it sounds silly, but I'm scared of flying."
"As well as snakes?"
She nodded, and managed a small smile. I wanted to ask her seen Snakes on a Plane but I managed to resist.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p74

[Biggles]

For me, this incredible ride across the heart of the desert was everything I had dreamed of back home as I had pored over my maps of Africa, marvelling at the sheer size and might of the Sahara. All my fears and anxiety about the heat had proved to be unfounded, and although it was indeed blisteringly hot, and the riding was physically gruelling at times, it was still a magical experience to be riding my motorcycle across sands to Tamanrasset, a place that had been in my dreams for so long that it had taken on almost mythical status. The last day's ride that took us into the town was the grandest finale a motorcyclist could hope for, through the foothills of the Hoggar Mountains and along the most exhilarating rocky trails I had ever ridden. The track had all but washed away, and
there was nothing else to do but hang on tight and go for it, flying and bouncing over huge rocks, in and out of steep-sided gullies, making accidental jumps and wincing as the rear suspension bottomed out again and again. But the bike never failed me, and even with the luggage, the heat and the brutal terrain, its 250ccs of power were plenty to keep me whizzing along at a fine pace. It was exactly what I had come here for.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p100-1

[Biggles]

The residents of Assamaka waved us off and within a few minutes the village had disappeared from view and we were alone in the Saharan emptiness, blasting across a flat plain of brown sand, moving ever southwards. The morning was still cool and a layer of dew had settled overnight on the ground, creating a thin crust on the sand which made a firm surface for fast, effortless riding. The exhilaration of travelling at speed across this landscape without the menace of the midday sun or the perils of deep sand was just what I needed to conquer the demons that had resurfaced during the previous day's trials.
After a few hours our route took us through an area of giant orange dunes, which the bike climbed and crested effortlessly, reaffirming my love affair with desert riding. As far as motorcycling goes, this was as pure a thrill as I had ever known, and I put yesterday's traumas down to a blip. I was back in the game.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p122

[Biggles]

"So, you, from Belgium, are in the car," he said slowly, as if trying to clarify a matter of great confusion. "And you" - he gave me a quizzical look - "are riding the motorcycle?"
"Er, yes. That's right," I replied.
"Maybe you are a man, yes?"
I wanted to laugh but it didn't seem like a good idea, so I assured him of my feminine attributes with poker-faced earnestness. He didn't look very convinced.
"And you come all the way here from England on your motorcycle?"
"Yes."
"'And where do you go?"
"I'm going to South Africa, to Cape Town."
He stared at me aghast.
"But why?' His voice bounced off the corrugated iron walls of the hut as it increased in volume. "Why do you do this, why do you ride a motorcycle all the way through Africa?"
"Um... for fun, for an adventure I suppose," I replied.
"Women do not do that in Africa!" he bellowed, although I wasn't sure if he was angry or merely baffled. "They stay at home and look after the house and the children. I wouldn't let my wife go off on a motorcycle in the name of, of..." - he spluttered out the word - "adventure!"
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p162

[Biggles]

The same group of curious guys who had greeted us followed us outside to give us a rousing send-off. As I mounted the bike and fired up the engine, one of the men stepped forward and took my hands between his. Oh no, I thought immediately, he's going to ask me for money.
"I am full of inspiration when I see you on the motorcycle," he said, his face beaming. "It is good to have adventures, not just for you, but also to tell your grandchildren."
I smiled back gratefully, thoroughly touched and not a little guilt-stricken at having my suspicions shot down in such style.
"Well, if I ever have any I will tell them about you!" I said, and I rode away with a light heart and the image of his smiling face burned into my memory.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p174

[Biggles]

Everybody struck up conversations with me, in the street, in cafes, in shops; they looked me in the eye and sometimes held my hand. Most of the time they weren't even trying to sell me something, it was just what they did. They were the same with each other, too: friends and strangers exchanged greetings, news or just gave a friendly slap on the back or a touch to the arm. It was impossible to do anything in Cameroon that didn't involve real human contact, and I wondered how and when this simple ingredient of our existence had ebbed away from our lives back home. Did it all come down to the fact that, unlike in England, there was no sense of immediate distrust, that people weren't scared of each other here?
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p187

[Biggles]

The make-up woman worked away in silence, and although their wasn't a mirror in front of me to see what she was doing, I was beginning to get a little worried as she continued to pile on the slap. My face felt as if was covered with pancake batter, and that was before she'd applied several dollops of red blusher to my cheeks. My eyelashes were soon clogged into a sticky black lump and then, to my horror, she came at me with a palette of sparkly blue eye-shadow. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, a rummage through her box of lipsticks resulted in a shade of iridescent purple being applied to my reluctant lips. It reminded me of the horribly 80s 'Twilight Teaser' my friends and I used to wear when we were thirteen, in our (unsuccessful) attempts to catch the eyes of the bad boys who hung around at the local shopping centre.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p229-30

[Biggles]

Chris didn't strike me as a typical motorcycle adventurer, although I knew by now that there was really no such thing, despite BMW's best efforts to create a worldwide army of identically dressed middle-aged men striking out on their massive e machines. I had met all sorts of motorcyclists on my travels, and the motives that propel these ordinary folk out into the world on a motorbike are as diverse as the people themselves. Married couples having the final hurrah once the kids have left home; divorced, disillusioned men trying to create the youth they never had; likely lads chasing adventure and a a girl in every port; and the romantics, the aimless wanderers for whom life on the road means never having to commit to anything, trying to convince themselves that there's poetry and meaning to be found among the fleapit hostels and the Laughing Cow cheese.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p233

[Biggles]

My spirits were cheered by this unsubstantiated piece of news, and when I asked about somewhere to sleep in N'Dende he offered me a hut at the back of the petrol station. There were a few of them dotted about in the back yard; they were nothing more than concrete cells but the doors were numbered so he obviously operated some sort of lodgings here. Either that or it was a Gabonese young offenders' institute. He opened the door of cell number 4 for me to have a look, and I recoiled as if I'd been smacked in the face with a warm sodden sponge. The hut had no window and had been cooking all day in the jungle heat; it was like walking into an industrial oven and within a matter of seconds the sweat was pouring off me. Inside, a 1997 calendar hung on a bare wall and as I stepped in a few cockroaches scuttled away into a corner. "I'll take it," I announced, and threw my helmet on to the soggy mattress that lay on the concrete floor.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p259-60

[Biggles]

My immediate response was to protest, but a split-second assessment of the situation forced me to accept the harsh truth. This man was my only hope. I was at his mercy and he could name his price.
"Combien?" I asked.
"Cinq mille francs," he said.
Five thousand francs? That was five quid. It seemed pretty steep and I made a few hollow, British attempts at haggling, but it as I did so, I remembered that I didn't actually have anything less than a 5,000-franc note anyway, and I guessed that, like a stroppy bus driver, he would demand the exact money only. And besides, I didn't have the nerve to ask for change.
"OK," I agreed. "Cinq mille." But he made it clear that he wouldn't so much as touch the bike until the 5,000-franc note is safely in his pocket. Grudgingly I handed over the cash, and he rolled up his trousers, removed his sandals and strode into the mud. I watched as he grabbed the bike's handlebars, heaved them towards him, and with a loud comedy squelch, the bike rose from the mire. He pushed it on to dryish land, wiped his hands on his trousers, and with that, he was
gone.
I estimated it had taken him about ten seconds to right the bike, and as I repacked my luggage and made a few fruitless efforts at wiping off the mud, I calculated that at this rate he was on a wage of £1,800 pounds an hour. Nice work if you can get it.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p267

[STeveo]

 

[Biggles]

The jerrycan was leaking from the filler cap, and every bump and sway of the wagon sloshed a bit of diesel out until I could feel it soaking through my trousers. I could have sat on the floor but I couldn't bring myself to move a muscle. My arrival had caused quite a commotion and some of the soldiers had tried to engage me in conversation, but I pretended I couldn't speak French and ignored their attempts at a parley. A few of them entertained their colleagues with comments about me that I genuinely didn't understand, but which prompted raucous laughter and backslapping among them, and paranoid terror in me. I felt sick with dread, and my gut-feeling was to stay perfectly still in the pathetic hope that the soldiers would forget I was there. This response was strangely at odds with my usual approach to sticky situations - I normally relied on smiling, flattery and being ultra-polite to get me out of trouble. But this was different; something innate in me warned against making any kind of connection with these men. I knew what drunken soldiers got up to in the Congo and the very thought made me shudder with raw fear. I'm not equipped for this, I thought, this wasn't meant to happen, I'm not cut out for this. I felt a terrible, hopeless dread and, like a hunted animal, my instinct was to remain motionless until the danger had passed. But that was going to be an awfully long time.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p286

[Biggles]

I didn't know what else to do but sit there on the jerrycan and avoid all eye contact with the soldiers. I stared at my bike, tied up next to me, and concentrated on its smallest details, its scratches and scrapes, each one telling a story, reminding me happier times. Although I've never been one for bestowing names or human characteristics on my vehicles, at this moment just having my bike next to me gave me comfort. It was more than merely a means of transport; it had become my home over the last few months but most of all it represented fun and freedom, two things that were sorely absent from my current situation.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p289

[Biggles]

"OK, let's go!" Jean-Paul was calling out of the passenger window. The car was a battered green Citroen, but the driver had ideas above his station and was dressed as an airline pilot, complete with uniform, cap and aviator shades. He was also wearing a headset which, as far as I could make out, was strictly for show, as when I followed the lead that dangled down over his shoulder I realised it was not connected to any device in the car. Maybe he was a pilot, moonlighting as a taxi driver, or was he just a cabbie with an ego problem? I had way of telling; I had only been here a few hours but I suspected that no explanation was too far-fetched for Kinshasa, this bizarre city that teetered permanently on the tightrope between absurdity and disaster.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p317

[Draco (Heartbreak Kid)]

  "May your roads always be clear, and NEVER rise up to meet you" 

[Biggles]

As I was ploughing slowly through a stretch of flooded road, a minibus in front of me stopped without warning, forcing me to slam on the brakes. The driver jumped out and came round to open the rear doors and I could see that every seat in the bus was taken. Nonetheless, he was stopping to pick up more passengers, and the very second he opened the door a bunch of about forty men and women waiting by the side of the road charged inside, pushing each other out of the way, shouting and shoving and climbing on top of each other, elbowing their way inside. In less than a minute the minibus was at bursting point and I could no longer see any of the interior, just a mass of humans piled high: arms, legs, a pair of trainers, the occasional flash of teeth or the whites of someone's eyes. The driver went to shut the doors but there were still eight women from the crowd who had not managed to elbow their way inside the bus. Undeterred by the reality that was staring them in the face, they hitched up their ankle-length dresses and began clambering up the bodies of their travelling companions, using the random collection of limbs as a ladder. They squeezed their heads into tiny gaps, grabbed hold of feet and hands and balanced themselves on any spare square inch of human they could find. The driver, realising there was no way he was going to be able to close the doors now, returned to his seat and peeled out into the traffic, soaking me with a spray of muddy water in the process but leaving me with the fantastic view of eight brightly coloured, shapely bottoms sticking out of the rear doors, bouncing and wobbling as the minibus bumped away up the road.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p327-8

[Biggles]

"Sim, Sim!" he said. Yes! Yes! He was pointing to one particular phrase. A inmdacdo repentina. He looked at me apologetically as if he himself was responsible for Angola's weather systems.  I looked at the book. It translated as 'a flash flood'.
But even this ominous exchange wasn't enough to dampen the excitement that always accompanies the entry into a new country. An invisible line in the ground is crossed and everything changes; another language to grapple and stutter with, strange names, new places and people, another currency to count and convert and confuse, banknotes bearing portraits oi national heroes you've never heard of; a whole new set of mores to absorb, to be befuddled by and to attempt understand. It was like being a kid again, gazing around and lapping up the novelty; my tongue was practically hanging out, panting for more. This is the stuff that drives me, I realised, and I was reassured that my zeal for the new and the unknown and the weird was still safely intact. There had been moments when I feared the Congo had knocked it out of me, when I'd lain awake at night in some grotty flophouse, dirty and doused in sweat, listening to the scrabble of cockroaches or to strange men's voices shouting in alien languages outside my door; and I'd promised myself a future of holiday cottages in Dorset, cream teas and sedate ambles around National Trust gardens, if I only made it home. But Dorset could wait, Angola couldn't.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p346-7

[Biggles]

Predictably a crowd gathered around me as he filled up my bike, pouring litre after litre into the tank using an old water bottle. But there was no hostility among the onlookers, just lots of questions, some valiant attempts at English, less valiant at Portuguese from me, and lots of laughter.
"It is very good! I am very happy to see you!" said a middle-aged man who was carrying his small son on his back.
"Oh! Thank you," I replied a little nonplussed. Did I know this man?
He took my hands in his and gripped them tight.
"I never think I see tourist again in Angola. It is so good you are here! You make me think Angola has future. Thank you for coming here, thank you."
Crikey! I was so touched I had to choke back a tear. Of all the people I had met and the countless fleeting contacts I had made with strangers on my journey, I had never expected to incite a reaction quite like this, and I left N'zeto with a full tank of fuel and a warmer feeling than when I had arrived. I had been in Angola for less than a day, but I had the distinct sensation that there was something special here and I cursed the stupid Angolan consulate and its five-day transit visa for hurrying me through.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p357

[Biggles]

"Do you think they'll let me in?" I asked David when we finally pulled up outside the hotel. It certainly wasn't posh, but they had every good reason to refuse me entry, considering the state I was in.
"Of course!" he assured me. The security guard did a double-take as we stepped through the door. We made an odd couple: David, a spruce young man about town, accompanied by Swamp Thing. The receptionist, however, was a consummate professional and he barely raised an eyebrow, treating me like a VIP. David arranged everything, even organised parking for my bike, and before leaving wrote down his address and phone number.
"Please call me if you need anything while you are here," he said with his lovely, patient smile. I could have hugged him, but I didn't want to spoil his natty duds with a muddy embrace. Instead I settled for a marginally cleaner handshake.
"Thank you so much! I really appreciate your help, thank you," I told him from the very depth of my heart. Another guardian angel had been sent to me and I knew how lucky I had been.
"De nada." he said with another gentle smile, and with that he was off. No hassle, no sleazy come-ons, no demands for money. Just the kindness of a stranger. I hoped that a little bit of David's magic had rubbed off on me, and that I could keep hold of it long after I returned home, and pass it on to someone else.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p363

[Biggles]

Trying to avoid another flooded crater, I hugged the side of the track, sticking to a gulley, but my front wheel hit a submerged log, the bike jolted and before I could correct the steering it toppled over to the left, taking me with it and trapping my left foot between the crankcase and a rock. The pain sent shockwaves through my leg as I felt the bone-crunching impact of the rock and my ankle being wrenched and twisted as I struggled to free myself. Summoning up some adrenalin-fuelled superhuman strength, I pushed my body-weight against the bike, forcing it upright again. Swinging my right leg over the saddle, I restarted the bike and continued onwards through the mud and rain without a pause. I had reached some weird state of mindless, almost hypnotic doggedness, and I realised with shock that my customary, very vocal, response to such an incident had not been forthcoming. I hadn't howled, screamed or even whimpered in pain when my foot had been crushed; in fact, not a single word had passed my lips, not even a swearword. If I had given up complaining and swearing, things were really bad.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p375

[Biggles]

Despite all this petty bureaucracy, the novelty of my reverse culture shock was enough to keep me cheerful, and for the next few days I revelled in Namibia's comforts. Life was ordered and efficient again, I didn't feel my stomach tightening at the sight of a policeman, and the roads were so smooth could have kissed the tarmac every morning. As my aching limbs slowly recovered, I swore to myself that I would never again stray from the blacktop on this journey. Namibia's towns were Germanic in style: neat, clean and organised, complete with street names and house numbers. There were supermarkets which sold everything my heart and stomach desired, and even banks that let you in to change money. But after the anarchic world of Central Africa I struggled with the sudden plethora of rules and regulations. I had crossed an international border and now there were parking restrictions, no-entry signs, fences and gates, and signs that shouted 'PRIVATE PROPERTY' and 'KEEP OUT'.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p394

[Biggles]

For me, life was easy again. The sun shone every day and I flew along through this huge empty country unhindered. But after the full-throttle, high-octane, sheer intensity of riding through the Congo and Angola, I was overcome with a profound sense of anticlimax. There was no challenge, no excitement, no adventure for me here. In my quest to spice things up a bit I sought out the dirt roads and the desert tracks, forgetting all about my pledge to never leave the blacktop, but even this failed to ignite a spark in me; and with more time for thinking, rather than merely surviving, I pined sorely for Austin and home, and, most strangely of all, for Angola, or more accurately, for its spirit.
Red Tape And White Knuckles  Lois Pryce  p395