B
efore biting the bullet onto the road
itself, we spotted a pair of 250cc Chinese bikes in
a clearing and, perhaps stalling for a little time,
headed straight for them. Two Australian guys
were also preparing for the thrill ride, getting
their gig in order as much mentally as physically.
Their jacket-less armour and lightweight
machines boasting proper knobblies made
quite the model ‘Death Road’ ensemble. “Nice
bikes, guys!” was the first comment to come from
them. “Thanks lads, looking forward to the
Death Road?” I enquired. Of course, now lets go
do it.
Despite the intermittent bounteous rainfall,
repeatedly stopping to don and ditch the
waterproof onesies, the weight of the world
dissolved in the invigorating flashes of the
rainbow-spraying waterfalls, the sun on my
shoulders and the stillness of the place drawing
me in. With the remnants of the cyclists
remaining after midday – who waved their
fronds and gave way to us – an excitement sang
in my veins as I rode along the steep and bumpy
track. It seemed the whole world was in my
grasp, and it seemed as though I was lifting off
The mix of beauty and danger on the Death Road above myself; tooling along on my Pearl and at
was intoxicating. The stony dirt track thinned the same time lifting into the sky, and so filled
and when it nearly died altogether, grew more with elation and freedom that I had to open my
confident just as quickly, giving way to a wider mouth and scream.
track, which led to a stretch so to speak, rideable
on road. Without wisdom, imagination is a cruel
taskmaster. I observed early on that letting go of
any alleviated gnaw of anxiety, got us moving
much quicker.