First, aged 25 - Standing 100 metres above a canyon in New Zealand, willing myself to throw myself off and trust the attached bungie line.
Second, aged 27 - Stepping out of the open door of a small Cessna propeller plane and onto a 6 inch square plate over the landing gear, located 3 feet from the doorway, oh, and 5,000 feet above Hong Kong, getting into position to do my first parachute jump.
And now, Third, aged 46 - Riding a motorcycle from the tiny North Peruvian Andes town of Leymebamba to Celadin.
Today's ride was without doubt the longest scariest one I have ever done. The day started for me at my Hostel to the North about 50 miles, in the beautiful Andes town of Chachapoya (7,000 feet ish), where staff told me that it would take 12 hours for me to do the 220 miles I had planned today. What? No, that can't be right? They stuck to 12 hours! So, at 8 am I headed out ....
The first 50 miles or so were curvaceous jungle roads following a swollen river, and I managed to keep to about a 35 mph average on its twists and turns, rock falls, stream crossings and a tarantula sighting that I just had to investigate ... Then I hit the small town of Leymebamba, which was perched on the side of a mountain at around 7,000 feet or so, and the road wound out of the top of the town ... and shrunk from what had been a narrow road to start with at just under 2 lanes wide, to a miniscule 8 feet or so wide. It was still paved, but the mountains take a toll on these roads so it had the usual loose gravel strewn strategically near the corners, parts of the road that had collapsed into the void, and newly patched potholes with the 'Peruvian traffic cone' - a large rock, usually at least mellon size.
Things started out fine until the road climbed up and onwards, passing 11,000 feet, into the clouds, then dropping back down again - all whilst hugging the cliff edges with maximum efficiency. Clockwise or Anticlockwise became my concern, for a clockwise following of the mountain meant I was hugging the mountainside, whereas anticlockwise meant looking down into the chasms - the deepest being 1,000s of feet shear drops.
After the first few miles I thought I had found a rhythm, of spotting where the loose gravel was, the slick rocks, the tightening radius turns. But then I had a series of close calls on said gravel and turns, and realised that even at a sedate 10 -15 mph the turns were still difficult, and not helped at all by my now-reflex glances to just a few feet to one side to see what awaited my next mistake.
As I got into my 2nd hour, 3rd; I started to force myself not to look away from my chosen line - "look where you want to go, not at what you don't want to hit ... cos you'll hit it" being a line I'd been told repeatedly during a season of novice motorcycle racing, and also for parachute landings. I was finding it hard to ignore the Andean Guerilla in the room though, as I'm sure you can sympathise. Yet still the road went on thru the Andes, with no towns in sight, but also thankfully only a few buses(!) and 1 large truck(!!) coming the other way. On each of those occassions I was able to see them long before we met, and to locate a preciously sparce piece of road where we could squeeze past eachother. I cannot bring myself to think how a small car would fare in my position, let alone a larger vehicle, as there were no lay-bys at all. None.
At around hour 4 I became convinced of my mortality, and stopped on the road, and there, alone, recorded my 'love yous' to my family on my phone, then pushed on, now talking to, berating, cajoling and calming myself as I slipped on gravel here, strayed too close to the edge on a bad turn there, and sought to instill a zen like calm on my sub conscious - which by now was curled up in the foetal position in a dark recess of my mind, rocking itself and sucking its thumb. With its eyes closed.
At the end of the fifth hour I reached the end of this road, at the town of Celadin, and have never been so happy to see a yellow centre divide line! Now it was just 2 more hours of riding on regular super twisty mountain roads, but hey, now there was even the odd barrier on the edge to compliment the luxurious 2 lanes, and 20 odd foot wide carraigeway. Not that I appreciated it to my usual degree: I was a shell of a motorcyclist, a husk, temporarily emptied of the joys of biking - until tomorrow of course!
Oh, how long did it end up taking, I hear you ask - 8 hours ....
