Reykjavík Grapevine - 01.08.2014, Síða 52

An Off-Road
Virgin’s First
Time
My motocross sensei for the day was
Jói, who is an accomplished postural
therapist and has also been motor-cross
and enduro biking since his early teens.
From the kitchen, I felt rather than heard
the rumble of his black Ford Explorer
truck turn into my street. As fantasised,
it was a flatbed towing two large bikes
and a smaller one. Small as it was, a
250 is powerful enough to mess you up
if things go wrong. We went to pick up
his friend Árni, filled up the truck and
the petrol can, got a hotdog or two and
some drinks. I think I have eaten more
hotdogs here in Iceland in a month than
Fenway Park season ticket holders have
in a year.
We arrived at our final destination,
about 30 minutes east of Reykjavík on
Highway One, which was a flat dirt plain
surrounded by mountains with a single
trailer structure containing a chang-
ing room and some toilets. Several dirt
tracks and practice courses surrounded
it. As if I wasn't feeling out of my depth
already, cue Gunnar Nelson the MMA
and BJJ fighter riding up to say hello.
Like A Stormtrooper On Wheels
Off roading requires a serious amount
of gear which made my usual road gear
seem like a nightgown. The kneepads
came first. Four straps long and deadly,
you could crack someone's pelvis with
them. Or rather, prevent a steel rod from
entering your leg on one ride as Jói's
pads had done. Then came the trousers,
shirt, breast and back plates, another
shirt, armoured
jacket, helmet,
goggles, and gloves.
The boots are like
downhill ski boots
on steroids, which
made me look like
a Stormtrooper. I
wondered how was
I going to use my toe to shift gears in
these. The helmet, though my size, was
so tight that I could feel my cheeks
puckering through the gap in my molars.
I'm told it's supposed to be like that. And
you get surprisingly used to the discom-
fort after a while.
Jói fuelled the bikes and checked
them over. He set me up on my bike. Af-
ter what seemed to be ten minutes he
handed it over to me. Almost as soon
as I touched it, it stalled. Sitting down
and trying to bring my booted leg up to
my chest to kick the starter for the first
time gave me a cramp under my ribs. I
worked on my technique. It started at
last. He directed me to the beginner's
track to get the hang of the bike. Round
and round I went surprised at just how
bad a driver I was. Turns were impossible
at any respectable speed, I had no clue
what I was doing with the gears, as I had
no feeling in my foot, and the slipping
and sliding of the back tire was freaking
me out.
After a few more turns around the
track, I got better at dealing with the slip
and slide and relaxed some. Just as I re-
turned the bike to stand it up and rest
for a bit, Jói and Árni returned from their
(bigger) practice track. They were get-
ting ready to hit some other track near-
by. A lot of the day's conversation was in
Icelandic. Good practice for me but bad
for surprises.
Árni motioned to me to follow him
in the opposite direction and we set off
around the corner...and into the valley.
We rode up a gravel path laden with
coarse rocks and larger rocks tenuously
embedded in unstable gravel. Inquisi-
tively, I asked, "So if I see a big rock in
my way I avoid it right? I don't try to ride
over it?"
"Avoid the big rocks." Jói said, dead-
pan. Of course he then completely con-
tradicted himself. I followed Árni, sup-
pressing a rising panic. The adrenaline
was nice though, as was the scenery.
After we hit a particularly colourful
patch of larger rocks, mixed with sliding
gravel on an incline, I stalled the bike.
Getting it started on an incline was no
easy task and I became exhausted from
the effort. I was challenged by the repet-
itive pumping at the kick-starter for one,
and two, finding neutral with my Stor-
mtrooper boots was about as precise
as playing the game 'Operation' with a
hammer. I finally got the bike started and
tried to make an ascent up the chunky
gravel path. My foe was fear and after 20
meters or so I slipped
and slammed onto my
left side. I tried to stop
the bike from getting
scratched up as it be-
longed to Jói´s son. It
wasn't a bad fall but
bad enough to stop
me there. We stored
the bike in a ditch and Jói took me on
the back of his bike the rest of the way
down. Atta atta atta atta as we bounced
down the mountain. "So this is how it
ends!" I thought. But he is a master of
this machine and after I stopped panick-
ing I realised how smooth the ride was in
comparison to mine. Relaxing is one of
the keys to getting the hang of riding off
road. Not looking down is the other key.
The Rocks Of Death
We arrived in this expansive valley,
scooped out like a fluted punchbowl be-
tween mountains, made up of lava rocks,
coarse stones and boulders. There, a
track had been dragged out in the base
of the bowl. Jói and the guys got to work.
First in the undulating dirt and gravel
path, then the rocks.
While in the valley, instead of rid-
ing, I photographed, and was relieved to
do something I was familiar with. For a
moment I forgot about the return jour-
ney. I was going to have to pick up that
bike and ride it back down that hill and
around the mountain or push it walking.
And I was not going to push it walking.
We arrived at the bike and Jói brought
it onto the path. I got myself in position
on the alternative path facing downhill. I
saw Jói waiting for me on the other side
and as I came down he motioned "YOU
GO GIRL" with his fist. Then I stalled.
Great. After kicking it to hell it started
and promptly stalled again. Jói came
over and firmly stated something like
"What are you doing looking down? You
know where first gear is! Why are you
looking at your foot? It's there! Always!”
He then repeated Árni's advice about
looking ahead on the path and not down
at the 'rocks of death' beneath. This seri-
ous directive, which went straight to my
muscles, and they obeyed.
It was only then that I had my first
glimpse of the joy of the off-road world
and as it opened up to me, I drove home
in first, then second, third, feeling the
slight shifting of the ground underneath
me evening out into a gentle purring
path of soft terrain. The shocks of the
bike felt more and more like I was sitting
on a Lazy Boy sofa. I began to trust the
machine, look ahead and enjoy.
The best way to see the countryside
is on a motorcycle. Better yet on an off-
road one. Take a Land Rover if you re-
quire a shielded sense of safety, horses
if you love animals, or walk if you love to
take it slow. But if you ride motorcycles
you know what I'm talking about.
I own two motorbikes in London, one for looks, the other
for speed and comfort. Neither of these bikes nor any of the
thousands of miles I’ve ridden on them adequately prepared
me for what I was about to experience when I went off-road-
ing in Iceland for the first time.
Words and Photos
Gabrielle Motola
“Off roading requires a
serious amount of gear
which made my usual
road gear seem like a
nightgown.”
52 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 11 — 2014SPORTS