A moment that changed me: An accident left me terrified of risk. Then I joined a stranger on a motorbike adventure

The Guardian

a day ago

As I watched the sleek, white motorbike roll out of the hire shop in Thakhek, Laos, I wondered if I was making a dreadful mistake. It was March 2017 and I had agreed to go on a road trip with a stranger – an American named Travis, whom I had met a few weeks earlier. We were classmates on a Rotary International Peace Fellowship, which brought together people from sectors such as academia, farming and activism to learn about conflict resolution, in Thailand. I tended to have my guard up around people I didn't know but Travis's constant gentle efforts to get to know me had worked, and we bonded over a shared sense of humour. When he suggested we explore Laos together, it felt like a natural progression of our budding friendship.
Travis wanted to visit a climbing hotspot, I wanted to see the Laos that wasn't on the typical tourist trail – and it seemed like the only way we could do both was to travel by motorbike, a mode of transport I actively avoided for many years.
As a kid in London, I'd thought I would become a biker once I was old enough. My dad would zip to work on his bike every day and it seemed like a perfectly natural way to travel. But on New Year's Day 2004, I ended up in a Cambodian medical clinic while backpacking in the coastal province of Sihanoukville. A friend and I had been travelling by motorbike – me on the back – when it stalled and crashed to the ground. As we went down, my leg bounced three times on the hot exhaust pipe. At first, I was in shock. As I realised that the crisp smell of burning was emanating from my calf, I gasped; I went to scream but the pain was so intense that I couldn't make a sound.
I tried to get help from a pharmacy but the language barrier meant I was given pigment cream for the shining, pink flesh glaring through my brown skin. Eventually, my burns were cleaned and dressed, but the wound was deeper than I had realised and I was required to return to a clinic daily for the next fortnight. I didn't Skype my parents for several days while I tried to assess the extent of my injuries. I vowed to wear more suitable, protective clothing when riding a motorbike in future but, once I was back in London, with so many other means of transport available, I found I was keen to avoid motorbikes altogether. The scars on my leg became a permanent reminder of the incident and I grew cautious about doing anything that involved an element of physical risk.
By 2017, it had been more than a decade since I had ridden on a motorbike. Travis assured me that he had a licence and would drive safely. I looked down at the scars on my leg, took a deep breath and put on my helmet.
I needn't have worried. The journey was smooth as we travelled to stunning temples, expansive lakes, hidden caves and little cafes. I even attempted rock climbing. We rode in the dark, travelling through winding mountain roads to reach scenic nooks that we would never have otherwise encountered. It was a trip that imbued me with the confidence to connect more readily with strangers and to adventure more.
After I returned from Laos, I started going on more solo trips, relying on a mix of gut instinct, due diligence and being open-minded to realise my travel dreams while also staying safe.
Travis introduced me to his school friend, Jackie, who showed me around Boulder during my trip to Colorado. The ripple effect of connecting with strangers continued when I took a solo trip to Puerto Rico and Jackie introduced me to Eli, a mountaineer from the Colorado climbing scene who was living in Ciales. At my San Juan guesthouse, I met Jess, Kathryn and Matt, and about an hour later, we were all heading to Eli's family's forest farm, The Flying Coconut. There, we shared life stories over incredibly juicy homegrown fruit – an experience I would never have had if I'd not been willing to ask people to split costs and come on something of a magical mystery tour.
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Last winter, I visited Oulu in Finland. Since the buses into town weren't so regular, I got on a bicycle and learned to cycle for the first time in heavy, falling snow. The feeling was euphoric. My friend Erika even organised a road trip with a photographer named Teija early one dark morning so that I could fulfil a long-term desire to hang out with 100 howling huskies at Syötteen Eräpalvelut.
From Travis to Teija, and with all of the many others in-between, I've realised that what these trips have in common is a willingness to step out of my comfort zone and forge valuable connections with people I don't know. By opening up a little bit more each time, it has led to endless adventures – and turned many of my dreams into reality.
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