Day 19

Don’t write about reverse psychology. (U of Chicago)

Motorcycles.

I clung onto the driver of the dirt bike, zipping through fields and dirt trails in the plains of Cambodia. My hair blew back in the breeze, and I was grinning from ear to ear. It was my first time ever on a motorbike, and it was everything I had hoped for!

My mom apprehensively grinned as she zipped past on her bike. We were in the middle of nowhere, and were headed to a little village on stilts located in the middle of great lake. The roads were too bad for cars, so she was reluctantly persuaded to take them. She had never let me ride on a motorbike before, despite my pleas and begging to take a “moto” (motorbike taxi) in Hanoi, Vietnam, so it truly was a victory for me.

Here I am, a couple years later, living in a small town in Northern India, happily in possession of a motorbike again, okay really scooter, but with the affectionate nickname of “Scooty”. Even though it can’t go fast up the hills on the mountainside, I get a thrill every time I hop on. It may be just a form of transportation, but when we pile 3 people on it and cruise through the town shops, it makes me feel like an Indian. I don’t know whether it may make it up the steep hills, and I may have to jump off and walk treacherous sections, but riding that bike never ceases to make me smile.

I know motorbikes are dangerous—my mother never fails to remind me. But it’s a risk that I think is worth it to take. We make some risks in life, and even driving down the street has a risk for death or serious injury. So I will smile as the scooter maneuvers past big trucks and cars on the bumpy roads, and I will grin as we lean into the tight, twisty corners as we come up the mountain.