Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
After watching Long Way Round and Long Way Down on DVD too many times, Jeanie
Davison started to wonder how she might fulfil her own dreams of travelling the world and having adventures. Attracted by the romance of the road and the idea of “living light” with just a motorbike and some camping gear, the notion of a Big Adventure started gathering pace. After several solo road trips on four wheels through southern Africa, the fantasy of doing a major trans-Africa trip by motorcycle was becoming impossible to ignore. Just one problem: she’d never ridden a motorbike in her life!
So, galvanized by the thought of exotic adventures on two wheels, Jeanie resolved to get some motorcycle lessons, buy a bike and get ready to ride across Africa.
Follow Jeanie as the dream unfolds – and at times unravels! – when this 5’2 thirty-something decides to throw caution to the wind and make her Big Adventure a reality. After a shaky start on a 50cc scooter that threatens to destroy the dream before it’s even begun, Jeanie’s out to prove that, with a bit of determination and an open mind, anyone can make the impossible possible...
Jeanie: “I think the sense of adventure is there, deep down, in all of us. It’s just up to us as individuals to decide if we’re going to unlock that capacity and go for it. The only difference between those who have adventures and those who don’t is that the former actively seek to make it happen. That’s why I’ve decided to take the plunge. At this point, I don’t quite know how my mad, crazy dream will evolve. It’s going to mean stepping way outside my comfort zone and confronting my fears and fantasies head-on. But if I don’t try, I’ll never know what might have been. One thing I do know – I’ve set myself a big challenge and whenever it gets hard, I’ll just picture myself somewhere out in the wilds of Africa, living life to the full, and loving that I made the choice to go for it...”.
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
I’m wobbling round a school playground on a bright yellow 50cc scooter, feeling like a right bloody idiot. Al the riding instructor is calling across the concrete at me with a mixture of encouragement and despair, as my hand slips suddenly downwards on the throttle and I veer indeterminately towards the playground fence. “That’s it, now look left, lean into the handlebar...left, left, LEFT...!”
This is Day One of my adventure motorcycling career. Before today,
I’ve never ridden any two-wheeled motorised vehicle – and with good reason: clearly, I’m not a “natural”, or put bluntly, I’m crap.
But I’m subjecting myself to this humiliation because I’m driven by a dream – to ride across
Africa, all of it, on a motorbike. Blame it on Ewan and Charley: if I hadn’t picked up the Long
Way Down DVD two years ago, this never would have happened, and I wouldn’t now being careering round a car park trying to control a machine that seems to have a mind of its own.
What’s making it worse is the five other members of the group watching me from the sidelines. They’ve all got helmets on, of course, but I can picture their faces underneath: a mixture of amusement and relief that it’s not them looking stupid.
Worse is to come. After 30 minutes on the scooter mastering the art of actually staying upright, Al puts us onto motorbikes for the first time. The bike looks huge to me – it’s a 125cc Honda something or other and as I straddle the seat, my feet barely touch the ground (I’m
5’2”). This is going to be a disaster.
Surprisingly, the first 20 minutes on the bike aren’t too bad, as Al patiently shows us where the controls are, how to find neutral, and how to use the clutch and throttle.
After a few laps round the playground in first gear, I have a momentary rush of exhilaration – so this is what riding a motorbike feels like. Suddenly I’m there, in Namibia, powering across the wide open desert, woman and bike as one...
I’ve fallen off. No idea what happened, but it was as I was coming into a corner. My brain had some kind of aneurism or something and I started grabbing for all the controls at once – clutch, throttle, anything to slow this beast down. It’s not a big off, but enough to take the wind out of my sails. Al and the group rush over to lift the bike off me and I get back on, my ego more bruised than my limbs.
The rest of the lesson is a blur. My brain’s decided this isn’t for me, and I stall and kangaroo my way through the next hour, baffled as to why everyone but me has taken to this so readily. Afterwards, everyone’s chattering about doing their Learner Permit Test tomorrow. Al pulls me aside discreetly: “How about we postpone your test and do a bit more training first, eh?” I nod vigorously – but inside, I have huge doubts that any amount of training is going to solve my fundamental lack of riding ability.
On the way home, I’m fighting back tears, not so much because of the humiliation of the last two hours, but because my dream – my silly, wonderful, exciting, impossible dream – of motorcycling across Africa seems at this point but a distant fantasy...
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
After my disastrous first attempt at riding a motorcycle, I’m sorely tempted to just give up altogether. But that long-held, niggling dream of two-wheeled adventures in the wilds of
Africa won’t let me give up that easily.
So a few days later, with gritted teeth, I book some one-on-one tuition with Mel, the riding school owner. He immediately puts me back on the scooter. “But I want to ride a proper bike...,” I whimper, crestfallen. Mel, however, is unmoving: “You need to practise your basic riding skills first, then I promise you the bike will come more easily.”
Unconvinced, I do an hour on the scooter. It’s got no clutch or gears, so mastering it comes quite quickly. I actually start to wonder if a trans-Africa trip on a 50cc Honda Today scooter might be a possibility. Mel sees my confidence growing, then reveals the next part of his cunning plan – to make me take my Learner Permit Test on the scooter, instead of on a bike.
The idea of ever riding a motorcycle again seems to be slipping away fast - but I’m also realising the scooter is probably my only chance of passing the test this side of the next millennium. So I trust Mel’s apparent good intentions and agree to the plan.
On the day of the test, the nerves are back. All I’ve got to do is pass four seemingly simple exercises, including cornering, an 18m walking-pace straight-line ride, and an emergency stop. With the eyes of my fellow learners boring into me, I tackle each test in turn, buoyed up by encouraging nods from my instructor. Twenty minutes later, Mel’s shaking my hand vigorously – “You did it!”
On Cloud Nine, I breeze through the theory test and emerge with a spanking new
Motorcycle Learner Permit. Technically I can now ride a scooter or small motorbike on a public road with L-plates. In reality, that’s not going to happen quite yet...
Next day Al, the instructor who presided over my initial motorcycle carnage, gallantly takes me on for an individual lesson. This time, he puts me on a black 250cc Suzuki Marauder. I like the feel of it as soon as I get on. The seat’s low enough for me to put both feet down on the ground, and despite the larger engine size, the bike feels light beneath me. All good so far.
It gets better. Doing a few laps round the playground, something’s really clicking into place now. The confidence I’ve gained on the scooter is serving me well – I’m leaning more confidently into the bends, the throttle feels smooth under my wrist, and I’m picking up a bit of speed. My spirits are soaring, the bike is purring, and Africa suddenly feels close at hand!
“Make me an offer,” says Al at the end of the lesson. “Excuse me?” “For the bike. What will you give me for the bike? It’s yours if you want it.” This is the moment. The moment when my dream either begins or doesn’t begin. Buying the motorcycle means I’m serious; it means I’m going to Africa to have the adventures I’ve fantasised about for so long. Everything has been leading to this moment.
Without hesitation, I say: “I’ll take it.”
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
The endless rows of brightly-coloured motorcycle helmets on the shelves in front of me are a bit overwhelming. Staring at every imaginable style and colour combination, ranging in price from $150 to over a grand, I haven’t a clue which one to go for. I’m trying to adopt the casual air of someone who’s done this hundreds of times before, but somehow I don’t think I’m quite pulling it off.
It’s Saturday morning and normally I’d be lounging on the sofa with the weekend papers and a large espresso. Not today. With the promise of my Suzuki GZ250 Marauder being delivered in just a few days, it’s time to get kitted up. I’ve set aside the whole day and judging by this astonishing display of head gear, I’m going to need it.
“Hi, I’m Chris. Anyone looking after you?” A friendly-looking assistant has spotted my secret anguish - but I’m not quite ready to admit my newbie motorcyclist status just yet. “Arai,” I assert, simulating confidence. “I’m looking for an Arai helmet.” I’ve seen this logo on the side of Ewan and Charley’s helmets on Long Way Down so figure they must be good – well, if I’m going to be a proper Adventure Motorcyclist, I might as well emulate the best, right? Chris nods and 10 minutes later I’ve made my first purchase.
Boots, gloves and riding jacket follow, each expertly advised on and fitted by Chris (who quickly twigs that I’m not the hardened biker I first led him to believe!). With each item, I have to keep remembering I’m not buying it to make a fashion statement but to protect me if I come off the bike. Even the language of the gear reminds me that motorcycling is a risky undertaking – everything’s reinforced with “armour” and made of industrial-strength materials like Kevlar, Gore-Tex and Cordura. It feels like I’m being kitted out for battle. My credit card’s taken a battering too - to the tune of over a grand. This motorcycling lark certainly isn’t cheap! But as Chris points out, when I come off (I notice he doesn’t say “if”), I’ll be glad I spent the money. Deep down, I know he’s right.
The shopping’s not finished yet. As the proud owner of a new motorcycle, I realise I have no idea how a motorbike works. If I’m going to be a real motorcycling adventurer, tackling the wilds of Africa, I’m going to need to read up a bit and get savvy with bike mechanics. I purchase a copy of Alan Seeley’s The Motorcycle Book – a readable-looking tome with just the right amount of information for a non-mechanic like me to absorb. As I leaf through the pages, I realise I’m also going to need a decent toolkit and at the very least a puncture repair kit and tyre lever.
With my motorcycle starter kit filling up the back of my car, I head home buoyed up by my purchases.
Now I can’t wait to get my bike delivered and get out on the road. The fact that at this point I can’t even ride to the shops, let alone across a whole continent, is neither here nor there. With my new riding jacket, helmet, boots and gloves, I’m already starting to look the part, I reckon. How long till I’m really living it too?
My transformation from two-wheeled novice to fully-fledged Adventure Motorcyclist has only just begun...
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
I’m tugging on the handlebars of the 250cc Suzuki Marauder to no avail. Horizontal by the side of the road, my newly-acquired motorbike is already suffering at the hands of its new owner.
Ironically, I was just sitting on it by the side of the road, enjoying a break from a morning’s riding, when it happened. One minute the bike was vertical, next minute it slid from my grip and toppled over in a clatter of metal. Try as I might, I can’t lift the bloody thing back up to save my life.
It’s a crisp, sunny Sunday morning and this is my first time out on public roads since getting my bike. I say “public” but in fact I’ve spent the last four hours riding round a largely deserted industrial estate near my home. On the up side, mastering the bike’s controls seems to be coming surprisingly fast, and I’ve already allowed myself the odd moment of fantasising about skilfully weaving through some remote, bustling Zambian village, as a throng of admiring locals look on.
But as I’m discovering the hard way, with motorcycling one lapse of concentration has big consequences. Little did I think it would happen while I was stationary! My hands and arms are aching from operating the bike’s clutch and front brake levers – as yet alien actions that hopefully will come more naturally with time. On its side, the 150kg bike now seems to weigh a tonne. If there are any techniques for picking it up, I don’t know what they are. Glumly, I sit on the kerb, contemplating how I’ll muster the physical strength to pick it up.
As luck would have it, there are two guys working in the yard of the nearby Vegemite factory and they run over to help. As I pull off my helmet – it’s HOT under there! – they’re surprised to see I’m a girl. One of them cheerily picks the Suzuki up like it’s made of hollow plastic. The other, who smilingly introduces himself as
“Jamal”, is very interested in the bike. Seeing the L-plates, he says he wants to learn himself and asks me how I’m finding it. I can’t quite decide if he’s chatting me up or just genuinely interested in motorcycling. Either way, I’m grateful to them both for being seemingly oblivious to my embarrassment and getting me back on my way.
Riding off cautiously, I keep to the safety of empty streets. But dropping the bike has fazed me a bit. What if that had happened in the wilds of Tanzania where there wasn’t a soul around to help? What if something on the bike had broken and it couldn’t be ridden to the nearest village? What if I’d been trapped under the bike’s bulk in some remote part of the scorching, unforgiving desert...
I block these thoughts from my mind and do a few more laps of the suburb, this time braving some nearby roads with a bit more traffic on. But with the addition of just a few vehicles around me, all my bike-operating skills go out the window. Gear-shifting gets erratic, I’m clumsy on corners, and twice I stall the engine at traffic lights, intimidated by the weight of expectation of impatient motorists behind me.
I keep reminding myself this is all to be expected on a first time out. But the reality of the bigger challenge I’ve set myself is starting to hit home. At the moment, I can’t even hack it round my local suburb. Have I really got a hope in hell of riding across Africa??
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
The coach-load of people behind me are incredibly patient, considering I’m holding up their holiday. The engine’s died on my Suzuki and I’m the first in line at traffic lights at a busy intersection, trying to get it going again. The AAT Kings tour bus behind me revs its engine impatiently and, just as the green light threatens to change back to red, my engine kicks into life and I lurch forwards – to the cheers and whistles (as I imagine it) of 50 coach passengers.
Motorcycling, I’ve realised, is 10 per cent operating the bike and 90 per cent a state of mind. At every junction, every roundabout, every corner, keeping mentally together and not being put off by surrounding motorists is clearly vital. I seem to have the basic skills for motorcycling...but it’s going to be a long time before I make it look good!
Ever mindful of my Africa dreams, I’ve forced myself out into late-afternoon rush-hour traffic in an attempt to up the ante on my riding skills. Since my early wobbly days on a
50cc scooter (was that really just three weeks ago?!), I’ve been pushing myself out of my comfort zone just a little more each time, knowing that my dream won’t happen if I don’t start taking some calculated “risks” to extend my motorcycling abilities beyond riding round the block.
I’m discovering that motorbike riding requires a very particular kind of mental attitude – one that acknowledges the inherent danger of the activity whilst at the same time being decisive and bold. It’s also about trusting that the huge lump of machinery underneath you will actually do what you want it to do, when you want it do it. If I’m going to ride across a continent – particularly one as wild and unpredictable as Africa – I’ve got to build up not just my riding skills but a positive mental attitude too. However, on these busy suburban streets, that’s easier said than done...
The presence of Learner plates on my bike seems to be antagonising the majority of car drivers, who apparently regard the big fluorescent “L” sign as a signal to start acting like loonies. One car zooms past me at close quarters, even though I’m easily doing the 60km/h speed limit. Then a huge articulated lorry sits on my backside for ages, a massive chromeedged monster bearing down on me with a roar of engines. It’s a battle of nerves – who’s going to hold theirs, and who’s going to lose it and do something stupid? Focus, Jeanie, don’t be fazed, hold steady, steady now...
It works: the monster truck pulls back at last and gives me some space. I ease off on the throttle a bit, proud at having passed that little test. Still, that’s as much excitement as I can handle in a day, and
I spend the last ten minutes of the ride practising going over speed bumps and round pot-holes on the road home – which counts as “offroad practice”, I’ve decided.
Safely back on my sofa, after thirty minutes of sheer metropolitan traffic terror, I pour myself a generous glass of red wine...which disappears all too quickly. Needing to find my “happy place” again, I pull out my Africa maps. Very soon my mind has travelled to the farthest reaches of Malawi and there I am, cruising on my motorbike, traffic-free, solitary and sublime, along the cool waters of the lake...
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
“Are you alright?” A builder comes racing over after hearing the clatter of metal on tarmac.
A helmeted biker – that would be me – is standing by a motorcycle lying on its side on the slope leading down into an underground carpark. “Yeah thanks, I’m fine,” I say without a hint of embarrassment – I’m starting to get used to being perpetually red-faced on the road, and thankfully my helmet hides a multitude of sins. “Not sure about m’bike though...”
It was stupid really, coming off right there. I’ve navigated this tricky little slope many times, as it’s the entrance to the garage under my apartment block. A right turn down a steep slope with a speed bump halfway is one of the more challenging manouevres for a newbie rider like me, relying as it does on perfect low-speed control of the bike. I’ve been lucky that every time done it, nothing’s been coming the other way. Until today. Faced suddenly with an oncoming car, my brain decided the gap between the left-hand wall and the car coming up on the right was way too narrow. I throttled, braked, swerved, skidded and fell. If there was such a thing as a textbook “off”, I pretty much nailed it.
Thanks to all my heavy-duty riding gear, I haven’t hurt myself at all. But as we get the
Marauder upright, it’s clear my poor bike’s not been so lucky. The clutch lever’s dangling by just the cable: the handlebar clutch mount has cracked clean in two. With difficulty, we get the bike into neutral and my knight in shining armour wheels it down the slope to my parking space. I’m gutted – I’ve broken my bike.
It turns out it’s going to take three weeks for Suzuki to order up a replacement part. The thought of not being able to ride for that long plays on my mind hour by hour – like an addict who’s had her fix taken away. God, I am really that hooked on this motorcycling thing? Three days later, I’m suffering acute withdrawal symptoms and decide it’s time for Plan B.
Ringing round some local motorcycle wreckers, by complete fluke I stumble upon a guy who’s stripping down a bike exactly the same as mine – and he’s got the part I need! Hardly able to believe my luck, next thing I know I’m in the garage with my tools all over the floor, dismantling my Marauder’s broken clutch mount.
But I might have bitten off more than I can chew.
I’ve downloaded the GZ250 service manual off the internet, but the instructions are like reading
Arabic. Piece by piece, the clutch lever assembly comes apart. Hours pass, spanners and bolts fly, and I’m covered in grease. Several times,
I’m on the verge of giving up – I can’t decipher the manual, the crucial bolt won’t come off, and oh my God where the hell does that bit go...?? My Africa dream flashes momentarily through my mind and I grit my teeth. I’ve got to keep going with this: if I’d just broken down in the middle of the African bush somewhere, I probably wouldn’t be able to just phone the local mechanic. Come on Jeanie, you can fix this...
Suddenly it’s done. I think. Well, I’m not sure. Only one way to find out. Tentatively, I start up the bike and do a couple of slow laps round the garage. The clutch lever feels ok... There’s only one thing for it: gotta go for a proper ride. Out in the suburbs, the wind whistling through my helmet, I pick up speed and the Marauder’s humming along. I’m on Cloud 9. In the space of a week, I’ve survived my first real “off” and done my first major motorbike repair.
Perhaps my dream of motorcycling across Africa isn’t such a ridiculous notion after all!
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
The big gleaming motorcycle in front of me reeks of adventure. A black Suzuki V-Strom 650 with huge aluminium side panniers and a long-range safari tank, its saddle starts at about my shoulder height and the whole thing looks like it weighs hundreds of kilos. Its owner Marty grins at me, pleased with my admiration of his pride and joy: “Been everywhere on the old gal...the Himalayas, across Europe, the Outback. Thinking about Mongolia next...”
I’ve been introduced to Marty by a mutual friend, on the grounds that we are both
“adventure motorcyclists” – though the reality of course is that I am a mere “wannabe”, especially compared to this guy! Hearing his stories of amazing adventures in far-off lands,
I’m both inspired and daunted. Marty’s been motorcycling for twenty years; I got my Learner
Permit barely a month ago. In his company, the idea that I will bike across Africa seems suddenly foolish – crazy, even – so I decide not to mention it on a first meeting.
Marty is my first proper motorcycling buddy, and he’s keen to help me get to grips with biking. But as his stories of riding across alpine mountains, through dusty deserts and even in the middle of gridlocked cities come thick and fast, I’m feeling distinctly stupid that all I’ve been doing so far are relatively quiet suburban roads – nothing over 60 kilometres per hour and certainly no multi-lane highways. I won’t do any route that involves hill stops or starts –
I’m not confident enough on the brakes yet! – and definitely won’t go out if there’s even a hint of rain. Or if it’s a bit too windy. Or dark.
I’m frustrated that my riding ability seems to have plateau-ed before
I’ve barely begun. So one gusty Saturday morning, I head out on my
Marauder to try and up the ante. I tackle a busy three-lane road, determined to move out of my comfort zone. At first, it’s going well – riding the bike is coming more naturally every time I go out. I’ve even developed some rather nifty little “tricks” - for example, gliding practically to a stop at traffic lights with my feet still firmly on the footpegs (as opposed to wobbling to a halt putting both my feet down at the earliest opportunity!): a sure sign I’m getting more competent handling the bike.
But after about twenty minutes, the inevitable “information overload” kicks in again and I seek the comfort of quieter, familiar streets. I’m really annoyed at myself – I desperately want to push my riding boundaries and get out of the damn suburbs. But something deep down keeps blocking me, as if subliminally reminding me of the inherent dangers and uncertainties of what I’m attempting here.
I have no idea if this feeling is natural for newbie riders, or whether I’m just being overcautious and silly. I’m frustrated I can’t just hop on the bike and go wherever I want. The thought of doing the half-hour commute across the city to my workplace seems like the ultimate challenge, and the notion of hitting “the open road” – the holy grail of adventure motorcyclists everywhere – just feels like a physical impossibility. Disheartened, I practise doing a few tight U-turns in an empty carpark (noticing that I’m actually rather good at them). I’ve done over 100 kilometres today...but all within spitting distance of my own home!
As I park the Suzuki in my garage, my phone beeps – a message from Marty: “Hey Jeanie, a few of us are going for a ride in the Outback next weekend. Wanna come?” My heart cries
“Yes, yes, I’d LOVE to!” But my head says that for now, I should politely decline until I’ve built up my confidence on the road. Then again, since when did being sensible ever lead to adventures…??
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
“You’ve taken up what?” The voice at the end of the phone shrieks in my ear: clearly my friend Lisa thinks she’s misheard. “Motorcycling?” I offer, wishing that I sounded more like someone with the courage of their convictions. “That’s what I thought you said. Hey, you know my next-door neighbour had a motorbike...fell off, broke both his legs, never rode again.”
I silently roll my eyes to the sky. Here we go again. Yet another person with a horror story about the perils of motorcycling. I’m sure they mean well, but to me it’s like telling a budding airline pilot you know someone who died in a plane crash. Not helpful.
Thankfully not everyone’s reacted like Lisa. Some, like my mate Jon, think it’s “awesome” and want to live vicariously through my experiences, constantly quizzing me about my exploits on the bike and talking about maybe learning themselves, some day...
The funny thing is, I haven’t yet told any of them the half of it. If I were to mention that I actually want to motorcycle across Africa, I think they’d react as if I was going to train as an astronaut and fly to the moon in a space shuttle. Either way, it seems I’ve chosen a controversial undertaking, so I intend to remain schtum for the time being.
Meantime, as I get to grips with riding and bike maintenance, I’ve found a whole new bunch of mates...online. Not knowing anyone with a motorbike or who’s vaguely interested in them,
I’ve turned to the web in search of some virtual motorcycling buddies. By chance I stumbled across Horizons Unlimited, an incredible melting-pot of people from all over the world who seem to live and breathe the very thing I aspire to: adventure motorcycling. With user names like “BobTheBiker”, “TouringTed” and “TravellingStrom”, these guys (and girls!) fill the internet ether with exciting anecdotes, plans and advice about travelling the world on motorbikes.
My new virtual friends have been advising me on everything from how to tackle riding on public roads for the first time to diagnosing what might be wrong with my Suzuki Marauder’s engine. As a newbie rider, I’ve embraced their friendliness and advice, galvanised by the knowledge that my motorcycling dream isn’t a mad idea – there are literally hundreds out there following their dreams, seeing the world on two wheels, and loving it.
With all this support – and just 6 weeks since getting my learner permit – I feel like biking’s already become an integral part of my life. And while I may not be quite ready to tackle riding in the Outback, I’m definitely yearning to try some more adventurous roads and get a real taste of why I took all this up in the first place.
For sure, I’ve had glimpses already – parking the bike up outside the local café after a
Sunday morning ride and sitting in the sun with a coffee; stopping along the esplanade near my home to contemplate the view looking out to sea from the comfort of my motorcycle saddle…
But now I want to know what “the open road” feels like. It’s time to step up a gear and see what this motorcycling chick is really made of. And I’ve got the perfect plan in mind…
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
I’m doing 80 kilometres an hour on my bike and I can’t see through my visor. Rain’s coming down really hard and at this speed, on a slippery road, I daren’t take my hand off the handlebar even for a moment to wipe it with my glove. So this is what it feels like to be on the open road…
I’m about 100 kilometres from home, heading towards Phillip Island, an epic round trip of over 300 kilometres. Despite the weather forecast of absolutely no rain, right now it’s hammering down and this is the first time I’ve ever ridden in bad weather. I can feel my legs shivering as they struggle to grip the tank: I’m freezing despite all my thermal biking gear. The only saving grace is that I set off at first light and there’s not much traffic on the road.
About five days ago, I told everyone at work I was going to do my first big motorcycle ride, and that I was going to do it as a fundraiser for UNICEF. Apart from wanting to do it for a good cause, I knew that announcing a big trip to the world like this would force me out of my comfort zone and make me do something that would test my riding abilities to the full.
But barely a third of the way into the journey, I’m already questioning the sanity of setting myself such a huge and scary challenge so soon after getting my Learner Permit.
I’m motorbiking along in the rain on skiddy fast roads, feeling a combination of exhilaration and utter terror. At the moment, my brain’s on some kind of automatic pilot, spurred on by the thought of what it will feel like to get to the island. Riding through the downpour, an outof-body thought says this is far too dangerous for my liking.
Nonetheless, after a couple of hours of hard riding, I’m heading over the impressive bridge that connects Phillip Island with the mainland, and I’m woo-hooing in my helmet. I can’t quite believe I’ve got this far. The euphoria doesn’t last long, though. As I head into the island’s main village and turn the bike round in a cul de sac, it slips from my grasp and goes straight down on the tarmac. Petrol’s leaking from the fuel cap as I try and get the bike up.
I’m hauling on the handlebars, but it’s way too heavy. A motorist drives past...and to my astonishment, manoeuvres round me and keeps going! Bloody car drivers!
Adrenaline and sheer brute force get the bike upright again. I take a few deep breaths. Time for a coffee and to re-fuel the Suzuki. The bike tipping over’s fazed me a bit. The full enormity of what I’m doing is hitting home, and I realise the 150kms back is going to be much harder. The intense concentration and physical challenge of riding have taken their toll, and I have to muster all my strength to get going again.
The rain’s even heavier on the way back. Plus I’ve taken a wrong turning somewhere, so the route I’m following is full of things I’d never planned to encounter – right-hand turns at multiple-lane roundabouts, gnarly pot-holed roads, and even a freeway! It’s mind over matter now: I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the fact that my body’s aching horribly with all the effort.
Suddenly I’m back on a road I know and the last few kilometres home along the coast are easier. At long last I turn into my garage, soaked, cold, and completely drained. But I’ve done it – 6 weeks after getting my Learner Permit, I’ve ridden 300kms and tackled many of my riding “nemeses” head on. Africa just got a whole lot closer, wooHOO!!
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
I’m hanging on for dear life. The twinkling lights of the city are flashing past in the darkness at over 100 kilometres per hour, and we’re weaving through the traffic with our wheels barely touching the ground. This is the way to see the metropolis!
It’s Friday night and I’m riding pillion on the back of my new motorcycle buddy Marty’s V-
Strom 650. He suggested we go out for a ride so I can get a feel for what being on a bigger bike is like and get some first-hand tips on riding technique. But so far, the combined thrill and fear of being on such a huge machine is far outweighing any “educational” value this journey might have.
Marty’s the epitome of the adventure motorcyclist – my very own real-life Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman rolled into one. When it comes to biking adventures, he’s been there and bought the biker jacket – from the Australian Outback to the wilds of the Balkan states.
He’s ridden every kind of motorcycle and exists for the next adventure – which is never far from his mind. I’m keen to hang out with him, not only for the benefit of his advice, but in the hope that his adventurous biker spirit will rub off on me...
Marty’s suitably impressed when I tell him about my epic 300km ride down to Phillip Island the previous weekend – a welcome reaction from someone who’s idea of fun is motorbiking across the Himalayas! By rights, my own little biking adventure should have galvanized my riding confidence - but somehow hanging out with Marty makes me realise just what a novice I really am.
I’m jealous of the ease with which he hops on and off the bike, how fluidly he handles it, and the measured confidence he has weaving through the traffic at speed. Gripping the grab handles behind me tightly,
I’m not scared even for a moment as we zip through
Friday night traffic on the freeway and lean into corners at some quite breathtaking angles. I notice how his weight shifts with the movement of the bike, and think of my own stiff, tense riding style. Oh for the time when riding comes as naturally to me as breathing in and out.
Back at my garage, Marty gives me a hand with some maintenance on my Marauder, showing me how to clean the chain, check the brake fluid and lubricate all the moving parts. I feel a bit of an idiot that I’ve had the bike nearly two months and I still don’t really know that much about its basic workings.
“...Rear brake needs adjusting, mate. Ride over to my workshop next Saturday and I’ll fix it up for you.” Marty’s offer is very generous – I’m too embarrassed to tell him that driving through the city centre in traffic to his place is a really scary prospect so I might not make it. Instead I nod and smile thanks, and pass him a spanner so he can adjust the chain.
Despite my feelings of inadequacy, the excitement of riding with Marty has me reaching for my biking books as soon as he’s gone - specifically the Adventure Motorcycling Handbook.
Reading about two-wheeled adventures in far-flung places renews my enthusiasm, and mitigates the frustrations I have about my riding. Still, I can’t help feeling impatient – I’ve been on L-plates for 2 months now and I’ll be eligible to go for my full motorbike licence in another month. Maybe then I’ll start to feel like a fully-fledged biker...
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
I’m gripping the handlebars stoically, head into the wind, controlling the bike as it’s buffeted from side to side. We’re doing about 90kph and I’m pushing the bike to go even faster but it just can’t seem to accelerate with this headwind.
It’s Sunday morning and I’m hurtling down the freeway from the city, intent on fulfilling a long-held dream: to ride my motorcycle down Australia’s Great Ocean Road. This is my first real motorway riding, as it’s the only means of getting to the start of the iconic route. So far, it feels pretty good.
The wind strength is a surprise. Perhaps it’s because the bike doesn’t have a front screen to act as a wind-break, but it’s quite a task to control it against the constant gusts. Then a huge truck overtakes me with a roar of engines and I’m momentarily caught in the slipstream – it takes a mammoth effort to control the Suzuki, but thankfully it stabilises pretty quickly.
After an hour on the freeway, I turn off onto a road that quickly joins the coast. Suddenly, rugged cliffs and pristine white beaches stretch as far as the eye can see: this is it, this is the Great Ocean Road.
I follow the route as it winds round the coast – a combination of endless bends and slow roads through pretty villages. I stop off at a beachside garage for coffee and sip it, leaning against the bike contentedly. As if to punctuate the moment, the sun finally breaks through the low cloud and the whole scene is bathed in a beautiful light. My spirits soar. This is the life.
As I buckle up my helmet, a guy on a red Ducati pulls over: “Hi, how you doin?” “Good. Just pinching myself I’m actually here,” I smile back. “Only had the L-plates two months, but always wanted to do this.” Ducati Man nods knowingly, like we’re part of some secret club.
“Good on you. Hey, just wanted to warn you, there’s flooding all over the road about 60kms ahead. It’s right on the cliff bend, so you won’t see it till you’re in it. Be careful up there, eh?” I thank him, inwardly deciding I won’t be going that far anyway. He zooms off with a wave.
Back on the road, there seem to be bikers everywhere – both solo riders and groups. This stretch is clearly a motorcyclists’ mecca – hardly surprising when the route is both scenically stunning and a great ride. Without exception, the other bikers nod, wave or hoot as they whizz past, and I have a rush of warm feeling: this is a club I love being part of. The friendliness is palpable, even though we’re all masked by helmets - the acknowledgments seem to be a mutual appreciation of just how brilliant this motorcycling thing really is.
Mindful of the flooding further along the route, I pull over after another 50kms and switch off the engine to contemplate the ocean. It’s beautiful here, and all the more so for having come here on my motorbike. Two months ago, I would never have thought this possible.
Turning back at last towards the city, a posse of Harley riders coming the other way wave vigorously one after the other as
I pass. Yes, I like this club, I like it very much.
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010

Jeanie’s Motorcycle Diaries
The rain’s coming down and the chilly morning air is cutting through me as I ride the scenic route round the bay. Despite promising myself for weeks that I’ll invest in some warm leather gear, I’m still relying on my Cordura textile jacket and
Kevlar jeans to keep me warm – and this morning, they’re really not doing the job.
It’s early Sunday and I’m doing my now-traditional weekend scenic ride out into the country beyond the suburbs. A couple of months ago, I would never have ventured out if there was even a threat of bad weather – but these days it’s going to take more than a rain shower to put me off.
I’m starting to enjoy my riding more now. Controlling the bike seems to be coming more easily with every ride, and I’m tackling road situations that previously would have freaked me out – even a major diversion for roadworks today hasn’t fazed me, despite sending me up steep, narrow, winding streets that require intense concentration to navigate.
Despite a marked increase in confidence, I’m still mindful that there are many aspects of my riding that need work. In particular, for some reason I find right-hand-turn roundabouts problematic, often taking them far too wide. I think this has something to do with still being hesitant to lean the bike over too far when turning – this still feels a little counter-intuitive, even though it’s exactly what’s required to make a clean turn. It’s been a while now since my industrial-estate practice circuits, but I’m wondering if perhaps I should go back there to practise leaning the bike somewhere quiet.
Back from my bracing morning ride, I reflect on how far I’ve come since my wobbly scooter days. Whilst I wouldn’t call myself a hardened biker just yet (!), I feel I’m definitely way beyond learner stage now – despite what my L-plates suggest!
My neighbour Ziggy sees me wheeling the bike into the garage: “Hey, how’s it going?
Enjoying the bike?” I nod and wax lyrical about how the Marauder’s engine was humming coming back along the coast and how amazing it is to feel so at one with the elements when riding a bike... Ziggy looks suitably impressed and I’m pleased that I’m even starting to sound the part now. “So I guess you can ditch the car now, eh? I mean, you’re using the bike to commute to work, right?” Bubble burst – I’m not that hardened a biker yet. “Er, no actually. But soon...”
In the warmth of my apartment, I mull Ziggy’s question. It’s true – at the moment I’m just a weekend biker, a recreational rider heading out for scenic trips. But maybe the real test of my motorcycling mettle is doing it every day, to and from work. I haven’t attempted it till now, as I’m nervous at the idea of tackling rush-hour traffic through the city. I realise this sounds a bit mad, given that I’ve already tackled so many other riding “nemeses”, including motorways and riding in the rain on slippery roads.
Consulting my online motorcycling buddies, their advice echoes my thoughts: if you’re thinking of riding overseas, and especially in a place as unpredictable as Africa, get plenty of experience riding in busy traffic. Anyone can ride the open road – it’s navigating traffic that separates the men from the boys (or in this case, girls!).
Hmm, looks like I have another “nemesis” still to tackle if I’m to start thinking in earnest about adventures in Africa...
Jeanie Davison,17 th September 2010