Motorcycle Explorer October 2014 Issue 2 | Page 24

Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent
Chapter 3
Going Solo
I
awoke as the first glimmer of dawn broke
through the hotel curtains. Vietnam rises
early and already the street outside was
humming with the noise of mopeds and the
clatter of opening shutters. It was almost
too much to comprehend that in a few
hours I’d be zipping up my panniers,
turning into the traffic and heading south.
But here I was, the swirling depths of the
unknown beckoning me forward. There was
no going back now.
D
espite my fears about the journey, I’d
been determined to do it alone. Bar a stint
backpacking around India in my early
twenties, all my travels had been with
other people. In 2006 my dear friend Jo
and I drove a bright pink Thai tuk tuk a
record-breaking 12,561 miles from
Bangkok to Brighton. Aside from an
altercation in Yekaterinburg over Jo’s
snoring we got on brilliantly, splitting the
driving and responsibilities, making each
other laugh and mopping up the odd tears.
Then there was my Black Sea trip with
Marley, where I’d too easily fallen into the
dependent female role, never so much as
picking up a spanner as we trundled
through six countries. The following year,
in a shivering attempt to cajole an old Ural
to the Russian Arctic Circle, I’d been with
two fearless male friends, one a tap-
dancing comedian, the other a consummate
mechanic. On every other expedition I had
organised, or television programme I had
worked on, there had been translators,
drivers, medics and crew. It doesn’t mean
that each and every mission wasn’t difficult
in some way, but having other people
around greatly mitigated the risk and
adversity.