At this precise moment, I had a deep taste of the volcanic ground on my lips. My eyes, nose, and the rest of my face and body were covered in thick mud. I was standing in 50 centimeters of freezing flowing stream water, and my fingers were shivering. I started to doubt the kind of decisions I recently made for my life, starting with the last one: Why on earth did I follow this guy?
In a last attempt to make the bike move forward towards this muddy river, he revved the throttle to its maximum, letting the bike roar through the depths of the river. I stood behind the bike, pushing it with all the strength I could muster. The last thing I remember is being covered with mud from head to toe, with mud squirting all over my face.
I had never been a biker before. As a French village girl who had grown up in the countryside with two protective brothers and loving but conventional parents, in my mind, a biker consisted of a big, free-minded risk-taker. I imagined a big guy with long grey hair, big muscles, a big belly, with both his arms covered in tattoos, tall and dark… such a cliché that was far from reality.
My first and only experience with biking was when I was nine years old when a friend of my family came with my parents to surprise me after school. I was allowed to ride on his bike, and he took me back to my parents’ house. It was only three kilometers away, but it was my first road, slope, and the only thrill I had experienced until 20 years later.
I met Kedarnath the first week I arrived in New Zealand, and it turned out that he had also just landed a few days ago. The backpacker hostels are wonderful places to meet new and interesting people. It is like a nursery of people going through a life transformation. There are always good stories to hear and share. We met in a hostel in Auckland around the common dining table. While I was having my overcooked cauliflower and missing my white sauce, he was eating only boiled eggs for dinner – four of them!
I looked at him, astonished, and he gazed at me. He started to introduce himself. As Indian and French accents don’t go along very well, we struggled a bit to understand each other at first, but he was eager to share his journey. Even if I was shy because of my bad English, I was curious to hear it. He had just arrived in Auckland a few days ago, flying directly from Australia, where he spent six months riding his motorbike across the country.
I had never met anyone like him before, as in France, most people I knew had a 9-to-5 job, just like me before. To me, Kedar’s story seemed like a fantasy tale, and at the same time, I wasn’t sure he was telling the truth. Though I could see that his eyes were red and burned with tiredness. Later he would explain to me that every time he rode for several days, the wind, dust, and fatigue burned his eyes, but it goes away after a few days of rest.
As the conversation went on, it brought trust and genuine interest, and he showed me his coffee table book to better understand what he was talking about. He started his journey two years ago from his home country India, riding all the way to Southeast Asia, then to Australia, and now, New Zealand.
I didn’t know what to think and felt overwhelmed with many emotions. This story was so far away from everything I have experienced myself, and this guy was different from the idea of bikers I had. However, I distinctly remember his expression, and I told myself that Kedar really knows what he wants. Don’t doubt it, just go for it. He has a dream, and he’s just living it. He pulled everything together somehow and just lives it, making the most out of it every day. The joy and freedom were following him. He was living his dream, experiencing the vibrant journey on the road, meeting people, and the beauty of nature around the world.
In the following days, we didn’t talk much. I had enough socializing in English as it was hard for me to understand and express myself. I was mostly focusing on my own journey. He was resting, playing pool with other travelers with whom he socialized in a second. He had a few more things to take care of and arrange for his bike before he started exploring. On the other hand, I was ready to start my adventure. We exchanged numbers in case we would end up at the same place later. The world of travelers is not vast, and we could easily meet each other again.
At the time, I didn’t know that I would start an unexpected journey into the world of biking, and it would come back to me a few months later when Kedar and I would meet again to cross a muddy river
